


i suck, you suck

by thistidalwave



Category: Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Hey, I’m glad we met again like this,” he says when Matt’s looking at his bill. Matt looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Like, we didn’t really keep in contact after university, but we always talked about someday doing this, and I thought we wouldn’t get to.”</i><br/> <br/><i>“I wouldn’t go so far as saying that we always talked about it,” Matt says, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.</i></p><p>  <i>Nick lets out a put-upon sigh. “We mentioned it. Come on, Finchy, I’m trying to have a moment here.”</i></p><p> </p><p>This isn't quite what Matt and Nick thought would happen in the first year of their dream jobs. For one, there's a lot of unexpected feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i suck, you suck

**Author's Note:**

> Avert your eyes, I'm about to get soppy about the village it took to write this fic.
> 
> I must thank Sally, without whom isys wouldn't exist. Its first form was an outline written for her birthday last year based on me badgering her about what she'd like to see in a grincham fic, and therefore it has nearly everything I could possibly shove into one fic. Sally also had the task of Britpicking and scouring her breakfast show archives for obscure references for me. Thank you so much, Sally. Sometimes I feel like we dreamed #radiohusbands up for ourselves.
> 
> Thanks to Becca and Calley, for helping with the original outline, Lucy for her epic excitement and reassurance, and Calley (again) for being forced to help me at every turn. My favourite cheerleaders. <3 Also, if you expressed interest or encouragement at all on Twitter, you're the wind beneath my wings xoxo.
> 
> Without Lily, this fic might have been published in 2016 (doubtful), and it wouldn't be nearly as good. I'm so glad I showed her the outline early on in our (epically delayed) friendship and that she immediately insisted I _had_ to write it ASAP. She then faithfully showed up in the document night after night and forced me to write more, even when I was at my whiniest about not wanting to do it (which is pretty fucking whiny). She was always there to help figure out what the fuck I was doing, suggest ways to make it hurt even more (I'm so sorry), and just generally put up with my bullshit. Editing with her is an absolute dream in the way it could only be with someone you're inherently on the level with. Lily is one of the only people I trust to crack a whip at me and compliment me in the same sentence and mean both of them, and I feel so, so lucky to have her. Her devotion to giving grincham the story they deserve is unparalleled. Thank you for being the Matt to my Nick, babe. I absolutely couldn't have done it without you. #soulmates
> 
> ANYWAY. Here's isys. Hopefully you love reading it as much as I loved creating it.

_prologue_

 

The student radio office is stuffy as hell, even though summer has barely begun. In fact, Nick Grimshaw thinks, pushing his fringe off his disgustingly sweaty forehead, he may actually be _in_ hell--clearly administration have decided that all student DJs are demons that must be banished to eternal suffering. Their producers are assigned to assist their torture, which explains how Nick’s very own Matt Fincham can possibly be wearing a proper jumper at a time like this. 

Nick clicks his biro and brushes his hair out of his eyes again. He glances over at where Matt is staring intently at his computer screen, then back down at his own pile of paperwork. He sighs loudly, then looks at Matt again. He hasn’t reacted. Nick clicks his pen a bunch of times in rapid succession like that will make it louder, but Matt is still not paying attention when Nick checks again. Typical. 

“Finchy,” Nick whines, “aren’t you dying?”

Matt keeps his gaze focused on his computer, which Nick finds disproportionately annoying. He blames the heat for making him tetchy. “No, I’m very much alive and in good health,” Matt replies.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Of _heat_. It’s bloody boiling in here, and you look like you’re wrapped up to roast.”

Matt shrugs. “I’m fine,” he says. He’s lying--he’s been contemplating taking off his jumper for around fifteen minutes now, as well as deliberately ignoring Nick’s attempts to get his attention--but it’s not like Nick has to know that. 

He backspaces the last couple words of the email he’s writing and stares. Nick sighs loudly again, ever the drama queen, and shuffles his papers around. Matt looks up in time to watch him smooth his hair back, running both his hands through the curls and then letting go and hoping they’ll stay back through the force of his will or something. Nick’s pen scratches across his papers in that stop and start way he always uses to fill out paperwork, like he really has to think about what he’s doing. 

Matt sighs, a barely audible contrast to Nick’s diva impressions, and goes back to writing his email to one of the guests they’re supposed to be having on for the last broadcast of their show with Nick as the DJ. Nick has insisted he be sent off with style, wherein “style” refers to inviting all his friends and having a laugh on air. This is fun for precisely everyone except Matt, which he’s pretty sure Nick is aware of--whether he’s amused by it or just doesn’t care, Matt still can’t suss out, despite working with him for the past two years. 

Nick pushes his fringe out of his eyes again and huffs in annoyance. He can’t very well pay attention to what he’s doing when he’s boiling and his hair keeps falling in his eyes, and he complains as much aloud. Matt makes a noncommittal hum in response, then says, “Should be a fan in here, really.”

“Yes!” Nick agrees. “Yes, there should.”

“I requested one once and they said they’d send it, but it never showed up,” Matt says.

Nick frowns. “You did?”

“Mhm,” Matt says. “You kept complaining last summer.”

Nick grins a little to himself. He likes that Matt actually listened to his problem and tried to fix it for him. Matt tries to fix Nick’s problems a lot; it’s one of Nick’s favourite things about him. Matt looks up to see Nick’s smile and goes back over what he just said before hurriedly adding, “We can’t get any work done if all you do is complain, you know,” he says. 

“Of course,” Nick says, rolling his eyes. 

Naturally, not five minutes later, he’s complaining about his hair. “I can’t do any work with my hair in my eyes,” he whines, pushing his chair away from the desk and flopping his head back. 

“Get a headband,” Matt says, clicking open a reply from a different guest. It’s a confirmation, so he clicks to his notes document and adds in their name. 

“I can’t wear a _headband_ , Finchy,” Nick says. 

“So cut your hair,” Matt offers. “Or get a new hairstyle. Wear it like, I don’t know, James Dean or something. What’s that called?”

Nick tilts his head to look at Matt and wrinkles his nose. “James Dean?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, “like… here.” He slides his chair back and then down the desk to Nick. Nick sits up and watches as Matt reaches toward his hair, pausing for a moment to check if it’s all right with Nick. He nods minutely, and Matt picks up the ends of his fringe, smoothing his fingers through them. Nick’s throat is suddenly bone dry, his breath caught in it. He could really use some water.

“It goes something like…” Matt mumbles mostly to himself. He’s got both hands in the equation now, running them through Nick’s hair, and as if that wasn’t enough of a sensation overload for Nick, he can’t stop looking away from where Matt’s teeth are digging into his lower lip in concentration. He’s awfully close to Nick’s face, and it’s horribly disconcerting. 

The thing is, Nick has had a crush on Matt for ages. It’s hard not to like the fresher that’s been assigned to produce your radio show with you when he has an adorable serious face that he only lets slip when he’s taken off guard--and Nick quickly learned to _live_ for taking Matt off guard. It doesn’t help that Matt is genuinely smart and good at everything he tries, and two years later, he’s not just _that cute fresher_ , he’s _Finchy_ , ostensibly one of Nick’s best friends at uni, and Nick is graduating and moving to London and might never see him again.

“Quiff!” Matt exclaims. “That’s what it’s called. You’d need to gel it or whatever, but this is basically it. See?”

He switches off Nick’s computer monitor to turn it into a makeshift mirror, and Nick manages to tear his eyes from Matt’s face for a second to peer at it. “Yeah,” he says, but he’s not so much looking at the swoop of his fringe as he is looking at the way Matt’s fingers are tucked neatly into it. 

“Suits you,” Matt says, and when Nick looks back at him Matt suddenly realises just how close together their faces are. He probably didn’t need to lean in that close just to fix Nick’s hair, did he? He can’t seem to move now, though. 

Nick blinks slowly at him, looking a bit stunned, as ever, and Matt is struck with how much he’s actually going to miss him. Matt has an entire year of university yet to go, and none of it will be with Nick. That’s extraordinarily weird to think--Nick has always been there to kick back and have fun with, even if he is quite often half the reason Matt gets so wound up in the first place. 

He clears his throat and drops his hands from Nick’s hair. Nick tilts his head a little, a silent question, and Matt shrugs back at him, pushing his chair backward. “Work to do,” he says. “Got to send you off properly.”

Nick nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, flicking his hair out of his face again. He has the distinct feeling that he and Matt have just had some sort of moment in which they appreciated each other or something. Nick contemplates having a shower to wash off the icky _feelings._

Matt glances at Nick out of the corner of his eye. He’s working his bottom lip between his teeth, forehead furrowed in consternation, and Matt is going to miss that face--not the face Nick makes when he’s winding Matt up or anything, just. The face he makes when he’s taking things seriously. What if the next DJ Matt gets assigned to thinks their job is a joke? Matt shudders a little at the thought and then pretends he was just shivering.

“Pass me a pen, would you?” Matt asks. Nick hands over his own before he wakes up his computer and clicks to Google. He glances over at Matt cautiously before typing ‘how to quiff hair’ into the search engine.

If Matt thinks Nick looks good with a quiff, Nick will goddamn wear his hair in a quiff.

 

_seven years later_

_part one_

 

Matt fidgets with his phone, flipping it his hands, then forces himself to stop by shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. Sometimes it’s really annoying to be the sort of person who is always extraordinarily early. Nick will probably arrive to lunch on time and yet Matt will still be annoyed because he’s been waiting outside the restaurant for fifteen minutes.

He scans up and down the street, eyes passing over people without really seeing them, then turns toward the restaurant entrance. Matt briefly considers getting a table and just texting Nick that he’ll be inside, but then again, that would mean he’d have to deal with the waiter looking at him oddly and pointedly trying to get him to order. Maybe it’s best if he just keeps standing here.

“You look stressed.” Matt jumps, spinning around to see Nick grinning at him. “Your face has got to be stuck like that by now, right?”

“If it is I blame you,” Matt says. He pauses, then adds evenly, “You’re kind of early.”

“You forget that I know you,” Nick replies. “Half five to you is more like five.”

Matt opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. 

“Besides,” Nick adds, now guiding Matt into the restaurant with a hand on his lower back, “I haven’t seen you in _ages_ , Finchy. You’ve absolutely abandoned me.”

Matt frowns. “It’s only been a month since we finished the night show, and we’ve been texting.”

“ _Ages_ ,” Nick repeats. “For two, please,” he adds, directing it toward the waitress who’d asked.

Matt waits until they’re sitting and Nick is frowning at his menu to whip out the line he’s been saving. “So, you scored the breakfast show, huh? How do you think it’ll be with the early mornings?”

The glare Nick levels on him could probably turn glass molten. It is so, so worth it. “I refer you to the news service of your choice, or any one of my family and friends. I think _Sugarscape_ provides the most accurate depiction of my true feelings.”

“I’m sure,” Matt says, not even trying to hide his grin. 

“You’re a terrible person, Matthew Fincham,” Nick says. “Thankfully, you’re also one of the only people I can turn that question right back on. Do you need an alarm clock? I’m sure I can scrounge one up for you. Brand new and all.”

“Nah, I got this one that slowly wakes you up by pretending to be the sun or something. Lizzie thinks it’s cool.”

“I think I have the same one! At least, I’m pretty sure one of the boxes said something like that,” Nick says.“How is Lizzie, by the way?”

Matt shrugs. “She’s good.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Just good? That’s it?”

Matt shrugs again. He is, in general, all right with whatever being said about himself on national radio, as evidenced by the many times he’d allowed Chris Moyles to pick on him, but he isn’t really comfortable with his girlfriend getting the same kind of treatment. Matt’s had no way to know for sure if Nick would say something distasteful on air or not. He’s starting to think maybe he wouldn’t, so much, especially if Matt explicitly told him not to, but he’s still of the opinion that just not telling him any details is the safest bet. Thankfully, the waitress coming by to take their order saves him from having to deal with Nick’s raised eyebrow. 

Matt clears his throat and reaches for his water glass when the waitress has gone. Nick levels a look at him. “Yes, Finchy, I’m doing quite well myself. Thanks for asking.”

“Hey, I did ask,” Matt protests. “Sort of.”

“No, you made a terrible joke,” Nick says. He sighs heavily. Meeting with Matt to discuss the show had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“We’ve texted,” Matt says, obviously frustrated now. “I know how you are. I even know that last Sunday night you didn’t have any milk in your fridge and were cross that you’d have to go buy some if you wanted tea.”

“Which I did,” Nick says. “Want tea, that is.”

“Yes, and I know that too,” Matt says. “Should we actually, I don’t know, discuss the show?”

“Absolutely, be my guest.” Nick gestures grandly.

Nick can practically see the gears in Matt’s brain turning overtime in an attempt to come up with something to say. Nick himself can’t think of anything they either have discussed in a production meeting already or will discuss in a future production meeting when all of the team are there, so he’s very curious to see what sort of bullshit Matt will start spewing.

“Do you remember when we met here to talk about the night show?” Matt asks instead.

“Yeah,” Nick says, surprised. “You asked if I liked Clannad.”

“And you said you loved them,” Matt says, grinning. “Which you categorically did not, seeing as you didn’t even know who the hell I was talking about.”

“It’s not my fault you like Irish folk music,” Nick says. “I thought you were, like, magically cool now, all on the Radio 1 playlisting team and everything. How was I supposed to know that you’re still a nerd?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “You’re the radio DJ, you tell me.”

“This would make a good story for the radio,” Nick muses.

“Yeah, that’s why you’ve already told it,” Matt says. “Possibly more than once.”

Nick opens his mouth to snap out a retort, but the waitress interrupts him, placing their food on the table and asking if they’ll be needing anything else. Nick shakes his head, and Matt asks if she could bring him some more butter, because of course Finchy needs more butter. He always has to change things just that little bit.

“That’s the beauty of it, Finchy,” Nick says. “I get a whole new audience to regale with tales of my terribly exciting life.”

“I think your tongue slipped,” Matt says coolly, cutting his jacket potato into pieces. “You meant ‘exceedingly boring life’.”

“Hey,” Nick whines, “I’m interesting! I know pop stars!”

“It’s the pop stars who are interesting, not you,” Matt teases. Matt sometimes still has trouble reconciling the Nick from his memories with _Nick Grimshaw_ , best friend to the stars and frequent feature in _Heat_ magazine. When Matt had been moved to work on the ten to midnight slot with Nick four months ago, it had almost been like meeting an entirely new person from the Nick he used to know. The new Nick is a lot more spontaneous and outgoing than he’d been even in uni, and it wasn’t like he was shy back then. 

In the intervening couple of years between Matt starting work at Radio 1 and being moved to the night time show, they’d seen each other around the Radio 1 studios but never really spoken--Matt’s still not exactly sure why that was, other than misplaced guilt over falling out of touch at all. They needn’t have worried, though. Once they had the common ground of the show to discuss and got past their awkward first few meetings, they’d fallen back into their trademark easy bantering like no time had passed at all. 

Nick grins. “You don’t need to be so rude.”

“Just telling it like it is.”

The waitress brings Matt his butter. He smiles and thanks her, polite as can be.

“Are you coming out for drinks with Ian and me?” Matt asks after a while. 

“When’s that?”

“Saturday, I think.”

“In that case, absolutely,” Nick says, twirling his pasta around his fork. “Just the lads?”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, Nick, just the lads. If they can be considered as such.”

“I’m offended,” Nick says, deadpan. “We’ll order the fruitiest drinks they have, preferably pink, and knock them back like true men.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Okay then.”

They chat easily between bites of their food, and by the end of it Nick’s chest is feeling oddly warm. “Hey, I’m glad we met again like this,” he says when Matt’s looking at his bill. Matt looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Like, we didn’t really keep in contact after university, but we always talked about someday doing this, and I thought we wouldn’t get to.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as saying that we always talked about it,” Matt says, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

Nick lets out a put-upon sigh. “We mentioned it. Come on, Finchy, I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Fine. It is rather beautiful.” Matt sounds like he’s being flippant, but they both know from the way his look softens that he’s being sincere.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as _beautiful,_ ” Nick scoffs. He grins, and Matt laughs at him.

“It’s not like I want to see your ugly mug every morning either,” he says. 

“Please, I’m gorgeous and you know it,” Nick says. He checks the time on his phone and sighs. As much as Nick would like to sit here with Matt forever, he really needs to go. He’d promised Daisy that he would be her wingman for the night, and she’ll be right annoyed if he’s late meeting her. He tucks enough notes to cover his bill into the folder and pushes his chair back to stand. “I’ll see you Saturday, yeah? Text me?”

Matt nods. “Of course. See you.”

“Bye,” Nick sing-songs, squeezing Matt’s shoulder as he passes by. Matt closes his eyes for a moment, feeling all of twenty, until his mobile vibrates with an incoming text and he snaps back to the present.

-

“So this is happening,” Nick says on what looks like a regular Monday morning to the rest of the world. He sounds like a kid on Christmas morning, but Matt catches Nick’s nerves in the shake of his hands as he plays with his necklaces.

Matt is still rubbing at his eyes and clutching his coffee cup in one hand while he makes sure the camera is recording Nick’s first ever breakfast show link with the other, but when Nick stops reading off his script and hits play on Jay-Z and Kanye West, the smile on his face stops Matt in his tracks.

“Look at that,” Matt says. “You did it.”

“Here we are,” Nick agrees, hitting every member of the team on their shoulders as he walks by each of them in turn. “Is there more coffee?”

-

It’s Lizzie’s birthday just over a week after the first show. Matt’s been planning her dinner party for awhile, arranging for her friends to all be there, and he’s never been more grateful for his forethought. With the show just starting he’s been swamped with work, even if it’s the best kind of work. Though the show has been going remarkably well so far, he’s grateful to have this night off from thinking about the dirty details. He’s due some time to just focus on how great his life currently is. 

Lizzie smiles the whole time everyone sings happy birthday, and she takes Matt’s hand right after blowing out the candles and whispers a thank you to him. She gets distracted by her friend nudging her on her other side and telling her to cut the cake, and Matt pulls out his phone to check his messages. He’s pleasantly tipsy from drinking all through dinner and feels like his life is basically the equivalent of driving a tricked out Aston Martin away from a well-timed explosion. (Without looking back, because that would obviously ruin the whole thing.)

He opens a new tweet and types _So glad to be doing @R1Breakfast every morning… ideal,_ throwing a thumbs up emoji on the end for good measure. He hits send and puts away his phone, forgetting about it in favour of cake.

Matt doesn’t think about it again until he’s tucked up in bed, slightly more drunk than earlier and just as high on life. He’s scrolling through his Twitter mentions--there’s one from Ian that just says _get some water in you,_ which thank you very much, Ian, he has done--and then a couple scrolls farther down another catches his eye. His high crashes down, and he immediately wishes he hadn’t seen it.

_@mattfincham wouldn’t think you’d be glad to work with that pretentious tosser every morning, at least moyles wasn’t a homo #bringbackmoyles_

It isn’t that Matt ever had a really bad time of it on Moyles’ show, despite the fact that he’d been the butt of many jokes and hadn’t been able to look at his Twitter replies half the time because of random people blaming him for things that went wrong in their lives. It had been fine--let it never be said that Matt Fincham can’t take a joke in the name of amusing the nation. (The fact that there was a feature called Annoying Matt Fincham that had a _song_ is a testament to that.) 

It’s just that it’s honestly so nice on Nick’s show in comparison. Matt is the one in charge, and even if Nick infuriates the hell out of him by never being on time for the news and mentioning brand names and cracking stupid jokes about things Matt wishes he wouldn’t talk about, he never does it in a way that’s meant to actually hurt anyone, and he’s always serious when it really matters. Nick’s good at his job, and he takes criticism easily, always bouncing back with another outlandish and strangely brilliant idea. That’s what makes the difference, Matt thinks. Nick is just _nice._

He’s certainly not a pretentious tosser by any means, and it doesn’t fucking _matter_ that he’s gay, and Matt really can’t deal with people on the Internet being stupid, especially when he’s drunk and had been happy five seconds ago. 

Against his better judgment he taps the reply button, typing _@nickcagerules better a pretentious tosser than a homophobe with nothing better to do than send abuse on twitter! #getalife_ and sending it. He closes Twitter entirely before he can think better of it. 

He puts his phone on the bedside table to charge and attempts to go to sleep, but it vibrates at him only a few minutes later. He fumbles for it, squinting at the bright screen in the dark, and sees that it’s a direct message from Nick. Two, actually--the first one just being an aubergine emoji and a heart eyes emoji, and the second saying _thanks for slaying my haters matty._

Matt rolls his eyes. _whatever,_ he replies.

 _Enjoy yourself tomorrow morning_ , Nick says back.

Matt sends the crazy tongue-out emoji, following it up with _I’m not that bad off thank you._

_Hmmm bad enough to reply to douchebags._

_Do shut up._

-

“It was quite nerve-wracking when I had to meet Mr and Mrs Fincham as well,” Nick tells the caller on the phone, a lady called Vicky who is nervous about meeting her boyfriend’s parents for the first time today.

“Uh, can we… nooooo,” Matt says, already too exasperated for Nick’s blatant attempts to deliberately annoy Matt. They’re already becoming a staple element of the breakfast show, something Matt does _not_ remember agreeing to. It’s not even been an hour. The show is going to be so long today, he can just feel it. 

Nick is grinning stupidly at him, barely holding back his laughter. “It was quite nerve-wracking when I--when I met them.” 

Matt shakes his head at him. “You make it sound like we’re together, which we absolutely, categorically _are not_.” 

“What?” Nick asks, pretending he’s genuinely surprised. 

“I think you are actually,” Vicky chimes in. Matt is sure Vicky is a very nice girl, but right now he does not appreciate her encouraging Nick in the slightest.

“I’m in a loving relationship _with a girl,_ ” he reminds everyone. It would be just his luck for the entire nation to get the wrong idea, not to mention Lizzie herself. He doesn’t really think she would misunderstand, but she knows he fancied Nick at least a little in university, and Matt’s always paranoid he’ll come off the wrong way. 

“We’re not together?” Nick asks forlornly, tapping a screen in front of him. 

“No,” Matt answers as dramatic sad music starts to play. 

“Oh God,” Nick breathes into the mic, putting his face into his hands for a moment.

Matt can’t help it, he starts laughing, barely getting out “Hate to break it to you,” through his giggles. 

“Why are you breaking it to me at 7 AM on a Wednesday morning while Vicky’s on the phone?” Nick whines. 

Matt’s managed to get enough of a grip to assume a very serious tone again. “I’m your producer.”

Nick shakes his head. “Fiona’s here… the nation.” Nick sighs. “Tina’s upset… aw, God.” He sighs dramatically again. 

Matt seizes the opening. “Talking of Tina, we’re late for the news.” 

“Oh yeah,” Nick says, cutting the sad music short and saying bye to Vicky. 

Matt thinks that’s the end of that, but Nick manages to get in another, “So we’re _not_ … together.” He makes the statement sound like a question. 

“News time,” Matt commands, rolling his eyes.

“Okay.” Nick presses the button for the Newsbeat jingle, then adds, “I think that’s a maybe!” 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Matt informs Nick once he’s sure the mics are all faded down. 

“I’m trying my best,” Nick says. “Hey, what are you going to have for breakfast? Fiona, what are you having?” 

-

Nick is wearing glasses again this morning, Matt notes. He’s blinking blearily over his cup of tea, shuffling the papers with the show notes on them in front of him. 

“Rough night?” Matt asks.

Nick shrugs, not looking up. “Just tired,” he says. “Like always.”

Matt nods. He checks the playlist for the show and finalises his notes on the notes (he can be thorough about it if he wants to be) on his paper before pushing it along the desk so Nick can look at it. 

He watches Nick adjust his glasses and peer at the paper. Matt doesn’t know what it is about the glasses, but somehow they make Nick more attractive. Maybe it’s an intellectual thing. “Are the glasses going to be a thing?” Matt asks after a moment.

“Huh?” Nick looks up and pushes his chair away from the desk.

“The glasses,” Matt repeats, gesturing at Nick’s face.

Nick fixes him with a look. “Why, do you like them?”

Matt frowns and turns away, pretending to be doing something on the computer. He hasn’t looked at the tumblr tag yet today, he should do that. “Whatever,” he says to Nick, hoping he sounds more blasé about it than he currently feels.

Nick smirks at Matt’s ever so slightly flustered reaction. He may think he’s doing a good job of pretending he doesn’t care at all about “grincham”, but Nick gets more sure every day that it’s getting to him at least a _little._ He just hasn’t worked out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

-

They decide on a karaoke night for their first outing as a complete team, at the behest of Nick and orchestration of LMC. Matt notices the piano in the corner of the room as soon as he walks in and knows from experience exactly how the night is going to go.

“Please don’t point out the piano to Nick,” he murmurs in Fiona’s ear, sitting down next to her. 

She turns in her seat to give him an odd look. “Why not? You know how to play, right?”

Matt shakes his head. “I mean, yeah, I do, but… just don’t tell Nick.”

Fiona shrugs. “Okay, but you know he’ll notice eventually. Are you going to get a drink? You should bring me back something.”

Matt does go get himself and Fiona drinks, because he is nothing if not a giving person. (And it certainly doesn’t hurt to be nice to someone when you’ve just asked them to do something.) They need them, anyway, if they’re going to sit through bad singing for any amount of time. 

Predictably, they all get completely pissed. Nick _does_ eventually notice the piano and immediately forcibly drag Matt over to it. At this point, Matt is drunk enough to be completely into the idea of playing for everyone, and he enthusiastically informs the team that he can play anything they throw at him. 

Nick squishes himself onto the piano bench next to Matt, taking up more space than he really needs to, and demands Matt play various hip-hop songs from the early 2000s. LMC and Fiona hover nearby watching and giggling to each other, occasionally telling Matt current pop records to play, and Ian stands by the piano and pokes at various keys to try to fuck Matt up until Nick bats at his hands and he wanders off to get more beer. 

“Play something classical,” Nick says finally, and Matt transitions as smoothly as possible from 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” into “Moonlight Sonata”. 

He thinks Nick is going to do something stupid like get up and try to dance to it, but he just sits quietly. watching Matt play. “Reminds me of uni,” he says eventually.

Matt’s stomach swoops. This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen. “Yeah,” he says. 

“Remember that time you were playing something classical on your keyboard in your flat, and I started to rap?” 

Matt nods. “Beethoven,” he says. “You did that Kanye West song.” 

“Yeah! Yeah,” Nick says. “We were going to conquer the _world_ , mate. Whole new genre of music. Award winning.”

Matt plays a few more bars, trying to ignore the broad grin on Nick’s face. “We kind of did,” he says. “You know, not with groundbreaking music, but in our own way.”

“Deep, Fincham,” Nick says. He puts his head on Matt’s shoulder and is silent for a bit, thinking about a young Matt with his stupid smile and enthusiasm for the nerdiest things Nick could think of, and how glad Nick is that he can see all those qualities in the man sitting next to him, years later. “You stopped playing,” he realises, lifting his head and glancing from Matt’s hands up to his face.

“Oh,” Matt says, staring back at Nick. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Do you wanna go get more alcohol and sing One Direction with me?” Nick asks. 

“Yeah, all right,” Matt says. “I guess I do.” 

-

In late October they manage to get tickets to the _Skyfall_ premiere, which Matt is clearly trying to pretend to be calm about whilst fluttering around nervously. It’s kind of adorable if Nick thinks too hard about it. 

“Who is this person I’m meeting?” Matt asks for what must be at least the fifth time.

“I think you’ve forgotten the definition of the word _surprise_ ,” Nick says. 

Matt pouts. “I need to prepare myself adequately,” he complains. 

“Prepare for the worst, hope for the best,” Nick tells him, imitating a mantra Matt probably says too often. Matt rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’d better not have gotten me this worked up for someone I don’t care about.” 

Nick shakes his head. “You’d be this worked up just for the film,” he points out.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Matt says unconvincingly.

“You’re so annoying,” Nick says without bite. “Come on, this way, we’re supposed to meet him, like, now-ish.”

“Him? Oh God,” Matt says. 

Nick sighs. “What indication could you possibly have gotten about who it is from me saying _him_?” He grabs onto Matt’s elbow and tugs him along since it looks like he’s not planning on moving on his own.

“That it’s probably a man,” Matt says. “Obviously.” 

“Yes, a man who worked on _Skyfall_ , I wonder who that could possibly be.” Matt looks like he’s going to start listing crew members or some shit. “No, don’t even,” Nick says before he can open his mouth. “Look, there he is.” He gestures unhelpfully and watches Matt look around at every possible person like an excitable gopher or something.

“I’m so mad at you,” Matt says. “Who?”

Nick doesn’t answer, instead pulling him over to a man he vaguely recognises from the pictures he’d looked up and offering a hand to him. “Hiya, I’m Nick Grimshaw?” 

“Nick, hello! Nice to meet you in person.” He shakes Nick’s hand. “This is the Bond fan you were talking about?”

Matt is staring. Nick thinks it’s hilarious. “Er, hi, Thomas Newman,” Matt says, offering his hand. “I, um. Big fan of your work.”

“Thank you, that’s nice to hear,” Thomas says, shaking Matt’s hand. 

Nick has never been more proud of a decision than the one he’d made to get Finchy to meet the composer from _Skyfall_. Matt looks like he might actually fall over. 

“I’ll let you two chat for a bit if that’s all right,” Nick says. Matt nods, not looking at Nick, and Nick smiles to himself.

He chats to a few people he knows for awhile, and eventually a slightly dazed Matt wanders up to him. “I’m still so mad at you,” he says, the smile on his face betraying him.

“You’re not,” Nick says. 

“No, I am,” Matt insists. “You’re wearing jeans with giant holes in them and we just met _Thomas Newman_.”

Nick laughs. “Say thank you, Finchy.”

“Thanks or whatever,” Matt says, shoving at Nick’s arm. “Get some fashion sense, though.”

“Nah,” Nick says.

-

“Hey, I’m going out with Aimee and some other people Saturday night,” Nick says during the nine-thirty news on a Thursday the week after the _Skyfall_ premiere. “Anyone want to come with?”

No one answers, Fiona, LMC, and Ian staring intently at their computer screens and Matt standing on the other side of the studio with a cup of coffee. Nick huffs and elects to go over to Matt, since it’s probably a bit rude to interrupt Ian and Fiona doing actual work or whatever. 

“Hey,” he repeats, poking Matt in the shoulder. Matt looks unimpressed, as usual. “Saturday night?”

“What about it?” 

“Come out with us? I don’t know what Aimee has planned, but it should be fun.”

Nick thinks Matt looks tempted for a second before he shakes his head. “Nah, I can’t. I already have plans.” 

As much fun as doing what probably amounts to fuck-all with Nick’s crowd sounds, Matt and his friend from uni James have got a gig booked for this Saturday. His stomach drops as he realises Nick is probably going to ask what the plans are. Matt’s still not mentioned the whole DJ’ing on the side thing. He’d accidentally not told Nick in the first place, and now he’s overly worried about Nick making a big deal of the whole thing. Matt would really rather not deal with that.

Nick pouts and asks, predictably, “What plans could you possibly have that are more important than raving all night?”

“Well, first off, sleeping so that I’m not still feeling it on Monday morning,” Matt points out, rolling his eyes. “Tina’s doing the weather.” 

Nick turns back to the desk to fade out the newsroom microphones after Tina does her time check, immediately playing a trail and starting the next record. “I still think you should come. What are you doing?” He’s asked Matt if he wants to go out before and had this reaction, where he keeps saying he’s got plans but won’t say what they are. Nick thinks it might have to do with Lizzie, something Matt doesn’t want him to know because he doesn’t trust him, and it irks him that they’re still at that point even after so many months, not even counting their uni days. He pointedly raises his voice so that Matt can’t pretend not to hear him say his name again, though of course Matt does his best regardless. Ian gives Nick a look, pushing one side of his headphones off. “Sorry,” Nick says, directing it at him.

“What are you on about?” Ian asks.

“Going out with Aimee on Saturday,” Nick says again. “Finchy says he’s got plans.”

“I’ll come,” Ian says. “I haven’t got anything to do.”

“Will you? Brilliant. Finchy, look, Ian’s coming.”

“Yes, I heard,” Matt says. He’s finished his coffee and is sitting down at his computer. “I’m still not going to come. I can’t break my plans.”

“You apparently can’t tell me what they are, either,” Nick mumbles to himself. Matt doesn’t answer right away, trying to figure out if he could pretend not to hear or if he could just say it now and get it over with, and then Fiona takes off her headphones and starts asking Nick questions about the free download, so that’s that conversation over.

-

Most of Nick’s Saturday night is spent moping around the various pubs his friends drag him to, Aimee clinging to one arm and Pixie to the other. Nick can feel how much fun he should be having and he’s just… not. He’s mad about it, honestly. Matt Fincham should not have this much power over him when he’s not even present. Or ever. 

Aimee and Ian are at that point where they’ve graduated from the awkward flirting they’d immediately started upon meeting and moved on to pointed staring and subtly whispering to each other. It’s insufferable to watch and only gets worse when Nick thinks about how it’ll probably soon be the honeymoon stage of their relationship. 

“They’re so annoying,” Nick mumbles into his drink. Ian and Aimee are at the bar getting another round, and Nick would not be surprised if they started making out there and then.

“It’s cute, though,” Pixie says. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Last time we went out you were planning ways to trap them in a small space together, and now all you’re doing is burning holes in them with your eyes. Bit scary, that.”

Nick makes a face. He can’t even describe what his problem is to himself, let alone to Pixie. “I’m an idiot,” he says instead. 

“No one’s going to argue that,” Pixie says with a snort, and then Aimee and Ian are coming back to the table and that’s the end of that conversation.

Nick’s grateful to Ian for distracting Aimee, though, because if she was actually paying attention she’d be all over Nick, and there’s no way she’d let up until he gave her a real answer. Pixie is content to just keep drinking with him no matter how forlorn he looks. She really approves of booze as the solution to most problems.

Two pubs after the one Pixie had asked what was wrong with him in, whilst the ladies have gone off to the toilets, Nick turns to Ian. “Thank you,” he says nonsensically.

Ian gives him a very strange look. “All right, mate?” 

Nick shakes his head. “Don’t mind me, Chaloner. Don’t mind me.”

Nick decides to leave soon after that. He hugs everyone goodbye and tries not to think about how much he wishes he wasn’t going home to an empty bed so that he doesn’t beg someone to come with him.

-

Nick jerks awake from sleep, peering blearily at the clock and trying to figure out why in fresh hell he’s woken up at four in the morning when he only went to bed barely two hours ago. He’s shoving his face into his pillow, thinking that he’ll just go back to sleep, when he hears a distinct banging coming from the direction of his front door. That’ll be what woke him up, then. 

He drags himself out of bed, putting on his glasses and glancing down to make sure he is, in fact, at least wearing pants. He’d put something else on, but whoever is banging on his door at this hour will just have to deal with him being mostly naked. It’s probably Aimee, back from wherever she’d ended up and missing her keys.

The banging stops completely for a minute and then starts back up as light knocking as Nick shuffles down the corridor. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Nick calls out, voice cracking a bit. He coughs to clear his throat.

He unlocks the door and pulls it open to discover Matt leaning against the doorjamb, looking down at the ground. He’s wearing blue jeans and a striped t-shirt, hair all leaning to one side like it does when he’s stressed. Nick stares, the admonishment he’d had on his lips for Aimee slipping away. “Finchy?”

Matt looks up, and Nick immediately wants to wrap him up in his warmest jumper and give him tea.

It’s a rarity, to be sure, for Nick to see Matt quite like this. Even when he’s pissed out of his mind, knocking over bar stools and giggling, he looks at Nick with slightly guarded eyes. Not mistrusting--after so long knowing each other and working together, they undoubtedly would put almost anything in the other’s hands--but just… something hidden.

Now, though--now Matt is looking at Nick with wide eyes, rimmed red and pleading, and Nick feels like he’s staring straight through him.

“Sorry,” Matt says, his voice coming out scratchy and pained.

“No,” Nick replies immediately. “Don’t be. Get in here, it’s bloody cold.” He steps back and holds the door for Matt, who ambles in slowly, looking like he’s not sure how he got here. “I thought you were busy tonight,” Nick adds as he closes the door.

Matt doesn’t respond, just looks anywhere but at Nick, busying himself toeing off his shoes. Nick would think he’s drunk, except that Finchy when he’s drunk is a bit more chatty and a lot more up for a cuddle. This Finchy looks like he’d break if you so much as touched him. 

“Did you go out raving after all?” Nick tries despite himself, desperate to fill the endless silence.

Finally Matt looks at him. “Lizzie broke up with me,” he says simply, the way he might say ‘play that trail before the next record’. 

Nick’s breath catches in his throat between one inhale and the next. “Oh,” falls involuntarily from his lips, and he wants to ask why Matt is here, then, why he’s standing in Nick’s hallway, of all places, when by rights he should be curled up somewhere with ice cream and alcohol and someone who’s a better friend than Nick has ever been. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Matt says. He feels stupid now that he’s here, but he still doesn’t know what else he would have done. He couldn’t go home, not when he’d be alone there, and James was going over to his girlfriends’, so it wasn’t like Matt could tag along with him.

“It’s all right,” Nick says. “I’ll make some tea, yeah?” 

Matt nods, a lump stuck in his throat again. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt worse. 

“Sit down on the sofa,” Nick directs, guiding Matt around to his living room. He disappears for a moment, returning a minute later with a large jumper that he insists Matt put on, watching him do so carefully before he goes off to the kitchen to make tea. 

Matt closes his eyes and takes deep, shuddering breaths. He doesn’t want to cry again. He already did that once on the way over here, and he’s afraid he might not be able to stop if he starts again. 

Nick nudges him a few minutes later, offering a half full mug of tea. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep any second, so I figured we’d just get some warmth in you and then go to bed.”

“Thanks,” Matt mumbles, taking the mug. Nick sits down on the other side of the sofa with his own tea. 

“Want to talk about it?” Nick asks.

Matt does, he thinks, but he also doesn’t know what to say. He takes a sip of his tea to give himself an extra moment. “I just wasn’t expecting it,” he says eventually. “I think… I think I should have been, but I wasn’t.”

“Of course you weren’t. People don’t really expect things like that, do they?” Nick’s voices goes up a pitch, tone mocking. “ ‘Oh _yeah_ , I figure my girlfriend’ll break up with me today, better set aside some time for _that_.’” Matt snorts, and Nick smiles to himself, pleased. He watches as Matt takes another sip of his tea, and he can almost see the moment that Matt’s amusement passes and he droops back into his despondency. 

“She thinks we don’t fit anymore,” Matt says. “Like we’re puzzle pieces that got ripped up or something, like what the fuck does that even _mean_?” He gulps down his tea, trying to compose himself. “She’s probably right.”

Nick shakes his head. “Right or not, it’s shit,” he says. He wonders vaguely when exactly Lizzie broke up with Matt, trying to figure out why Matt showed up at four in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to ask for the details when Matt looks like he’s a hairsbreadth away from tears at any given moment. It’s disconcerting enough without actually pushing him over the edge. 

“Thanks for the tea,” Matt says after they’ve been sitting in silence for a few more minutes. 

“It’s not a problem,” Nick says quickly. “Are you done?” Matt nods, standing. Nick does too, reaching for Matt’s mug and tugging it carefully out of his hands. “I’ll put these in the kitchen. We’re going to go to bed now, you must be knackered.”

Matt nods again. “I’ll just stay on the sofa, you’ve got Aimee staying, and I’ll be fine with just--” 

He’s going to ask for blankets, but Nick interrupts firmly with, “No. You’re going to come sleep with me. The bed’s big, it’s fine.” 

Matt stares for a moment, long enough that Nick thinks he might protest, but he just nods. It’s starting to freak Nick out a little, all the easy agreeing Matt is doing. 

Nick takes his time pouring out the tea he didn’t drink and rinsing the mugs, and by the time he ambles to the bedroom, Matt has claimed the right side of his bed. He’s still wearing Nick’s jumper, and his jeans are neatly folded on top of the dresser. 

“Y’good?” Nick asks as he gets into bed himself, waiting for Matt to nod before taking his glasses back off and turning out the lamp. 

“Thanks, Nick,” Matt murmurs into the dark, and Nick’s ribs shrink around his heart. 

“Anytime,” he replies. 

He lies awake listening to Matt breathe for a good while before he drifts off.

-

Matt wakes up to dim sunlight filtered through thin curtains and the bed beside him empty. He blinks sleep away, rubbing at his eyes, and then remembers last night all in one burst. 

He closes his eyes like that might help, tugging the blanket over his face. If he never had to remember how sad Lizzie’s face had been when she’d taken his hand on top of the table at dinner again, it would be too soon. He’d known, then, even before she’d opened her mouth, exactly what she was going to say. 

He thinks he’d been perfectly reasonable throughout that conversation, even though he hadn’t realised how much it was going to hurt to hear it--not just from her, but from himself, every nod of his head at her words agonising. It had been the right thing for them, ultimately, and Matt’s grateful they were out for dinner and he had somewhere to be right after, because otherwise he thinks he might have begged her not to go and she might have given in, and then where would they be? Right back to the day-in, day-out grind of their life, loving each other but not in love, and Matt would never want Lizzie to settle for that.

His skills of emotional repression are clearly good, though, seeing as he’d gotten through a couple of hours of DJ’ing with his usual enthusiasm. That is, he’d managed it just fine until he’d looked out at the crowd and seen a particularly cute couple smiling at each other as they danced, and it had hit him that he didn’t have that anymore. He’d had to let James handle the music while he went to the bathroom and took deep breaths in a cubicle to calm down, then texted his mum so that he wouldn’t have to do it later. 

By the time they finished their set, Matt had, of course, become so emotional and stuck in his own head that he thought it was a great idea to show up at Nick’s door at four in the morning. To be fair, at this point he’s not fully convinced it wasn’t. 

There’s a clattering from the direction of the hallway and the distinct sound of Nick swearing. Matt emerges from his blankets to see Nick walk into the room, fully clothed in jeans and a stretchy jumper. He’s rubbing at an ankle and looking annoyed. 

“Oh, did I wake you? I was going to wake you anyway, but I thought I’d be nice about it. Whoops, crashed into a wall instead. Are you all right? Need anything? I’m going to nip to the shops, pick some things up, but you should feel free to stay here.”

Matt’s half-asleep brain takes a moment to catch up with the speed at which Nick is speaking, but it manages it. Practice makes perfect. He shakes his head. “I don’t need anything,” he assures Nick. “I can just go, it’s okay.”

“No,” Nick says, rather more firmly than he’d meant to. “I mean, no, don’t rush. I’ll be back in no time, and I’ll bring something for lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees, giving in to Nick’s commanding tone without a fight. Even though Matt prides himself on being an independent person, he can admit that it’s nice to have someone taking care of him and telling him what he should be doing when he keeps second guessing himself. 

“Good,” Nick says, turning to go. “Oh, and check your phone, your trousers kept vibrating earlier. Think it was your mum.”

Matt nods, thinking it best to not ask how Nick knows that, and Nick disappears back down the corridor, muttering unintelligibly to himself. 

It was indeed his mum, Matt discovers when he pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are two missed calls and a text saying _Ring me when you get a chance! xx_. Matt hits the call button and crawls back in bed while it’s ringing.

“Matt?” Wendy answers on the third ring. 

“Hi, Mum,” Matt says. 

“Hi, love,” she says, voice warm in Matt’s ear. “How are you?” 

Matt shrugs even though she can’t see him. “I’ll be fine,” he tells her. “I’m a bit shaken, but I knew it was coming, really.”

“Did you? Nick told me you said you weren’t expecting it,” Wendy says. “I was certainly shocked when I woke up and read your text.”

“Well--wait, what? Nick did?” 

“Yes, when he answered your phone this morning? He said you were sleeping, was such a dear, honestly. I’ve always liked him. I was worried about you, but you’re in good hands, aren’t you?”

Matt struggles to find words, unsure if he’s angry that Nick answered his phone or grateful. “Yeah,” he settles on. He’s glad that his mum isn’t too broken up about the breakup, at least. “I guess I am.”

Wendy makes a pleased noise. “I just want to make sure you know that you don’t have to be all right immediately. It was nearly two years of your life, it’s going to take some time to adjust again.”

“I’m fine, Mum, I promise,” Matt protests.

“Not yet you’re not,” Wendy says. “But you will be. Until then I’ve got Nick texting me updates, so don’t worry about me worrying.”

“You’ve _what_?” Matt proper squawks at that. 

Wendy bursts into laughter. “I knew that would annoy you. Come visit us soon, okay, dear?”

“I’ll send Nick instead,” Matt grouses. 

“Lovely, do that then. Bye bye. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Matt says, ringing off and staring at his phone. Sure enough, there are actually three calls from his mum in his call history, the third one answered. Matt texts Nick _Don’t text my mum updates about me :(_ and decides he needs to take a shower. If he’s quick he’ll probably be finished before Nick gets back. 

He’s right--Nick’s not back by the time he’s showered and dressed in his jeans and Nick’s jumper again, but Aimee is in the kitchen. She eyes him when he walks in, and Matt has half a mind to be afraid before she says, “Want some tea?” 

“Um,” Matt says, “sure?”

“Cool,” Aimee says. “Make it yourself, because I’m making coffee.”

“Oh. Is there going to be enough of that for me to have some?” Matt asks. 

Aimee smiles wryly at him. “Yeah, since you’re heartbroken and all.”

“I’m fine,” Matt says automatically. Aimee gives him a look that could melt down steel. “I’ll… be fine once I have coffee?” 

“Mhm,” Aimee hums. “Go be a dear and find some shitty TV for us to watch?”

Matt nods and goes to the living room, where he is led on a merry hunt for the remote. He finally finds it underneath a throw cushion on the floor and sits down on the sofa to turn on the telly. 

Aimee wanders in when Matt’s still flipping through channels, putting a mug of coffee down on the table in front of Matt and keeping another for herself. “I made it the same as mine,” she says as she sits down. “You can try to fix it if you want.”

Matt picks up the coffee and tries it. It’s maybe not quite sweet enough, but not so bad that he feels the need to get up and get more sugar. “It’s good,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Aimee says. She holds out a hand. “The remote?”

Matt hands it over and settles back into the sofa with his coffee. 

Nick clatters in around ten minutes later, huffing about his jacket getting in his way, the plastic bags in his hands rustling. “I bought food,” he declares.

“What kind of food?” Aimee asks. “Is it greasy? It better be greasy.”

“Uh,” Nick says, looking down at the bags as he toes off his shoes like he doesn’t remember what he bought, “there might be… frozen pizza? Or I might have looked at that and then decided not to get it.”

“Why would you look at pizza and then decide _not_ to get it?” Aimee asks threateningly. 

Nick shrugs. “I dunno.” He disappears into the kitchen and reappears after a couple minutes, bagless and with his jacket draped over one arm. “So it turns out I mostly bought things you can put in a sandwich. And ice cream. And the ingredients for spinach pie.” 

Matt rolls his eyes at the mention of spinach pie, which from what Matt understands is something Nick and Harry taught themselves to make whilst drunk one night, and now Nick won’t stop making it for everyone at every opportunity. In Aimee’s words, Nick is a bit of a one trick pony. 

For her part, Aimee stares at Nick. She doesn’t even have to say anything for both Matt and Nick to know that she thinks Nick was dropped on his head as a child. 

“Sorry,” Nick says. “I’ll order pizza.”

Aimee looks back at the television, face neutral. Matt imagines that neutral might be Aimee’s pleased face when she’s hungover. 

Nick sits down on the sofa between Aimee and Matt, scrolling through the contacts on his phone. “Are you gonna stay long?” he asks Matt. 

Matt shrugs and does something with his head that could probably be interpreted as a nod. Nick smiles at him and presses the call button on his phone.

Matt tries not to read too much into that exchange. He’ll stay for pizza, at least, and then he’ll see about leaving. 

-

Matt is wearing Nick’s clothes at work on Monday morning--he’d dug to the back of Nick’s wardrobe looking for a jumper he didn’t recognise and therefore presumed no one else would either--because he’d ended up staying the night again. They’d been watching film after film, and by the time it would have been reasonable to go home, Nick was asking if Matt wanted to claim one of the extra toothbrushes he keeps for when people stay over. Matt really couldn’t be bothered to protest Nick’s assumption that he’d be staying. 

Nick is trying not to worry too much, but sometimes Nick will look over at Matt and he’ll just be staring at his computer screen, clearly not doing anything, so Nick really can’t help it. Matt might look fine now, but Nick can’t shake the memory of him at 4 AM, red-rimmed eyes and sad expression.

Nick has a couple meetings right after the show that Matt doesn’t need to be at, so Matt goes back to his own flat. He’s only there for a few hours, not doing much of anything other than staring blankly at the telly and wallowing, before Nick texts him asking if he wants to go for a late lunch. Nick follows the text up with another saying that he’s seeing Aimee off at the airport after that, and does Finchy want to come over tonight and keep him company?

Matt replies in the affirmative. He’s only so strong.

-

Nick is remarkably good at distractions. Matt knew this intellectually, of course, because Nick’s erratic personality obviously lends itself to distraction, but it’s another thing to experience it in practice. Nick keeps him occupied, snapping him out of it whenever he goes back to sulking, and Matt becomes even more reluctant to be alone than he already was. 

Tuesday morning, in a panic whilst being emotional to Labrinth and Emeli Sandé crooning out “Beneath Your Beautiful”, he goes so far as to ask Nick what his plans that night are. Nick launches into an entire spiel about what he’s going to do all day, dropping in an invitation for Matt to come along so smoothly that Matt accepts without even thinking about it.

When Nick is getting ready to go to sleep that night, he finds Matt already tucked up in the bed, earphones in and the screen of his phone declaring that Adele’s “Skyfall” is on repeat. Nick gets in next to him and tugs his earbuds out forcibly. 

“You’re not doing yourself any favours,” Nick says sternly. “This is for your own good.”

Matt just looks at him, letting him confiscate the phone without protest. He knows perfectly well that he isn’t doing himself a favour, but it had been nice to pretend for a bit. 

Nick sighs. “You can have it back tomorrow morning. If I catch you at it again I’m going to _delete_ that bloomin’ Adele right off there, don’t think I won’t.”

“I believe you,” Matt says, and he really does. Nick’s got this fierce look in his eyes that Matt doesn’t dare cross. 

“Good,” Nick says. “Sleepy time now.” He reaches over and attempts to cover Matt's eyes with his hand, but Matt bats him away. Nick doesn't give up, and Matt grabs onto his arm, trying to push him away. Nick resists, and they end up wrestling for a moment before Nick lets go. Matt keeps his arms up protectively, but he relaxes when Nick fluffs his pillow and lies down, showing no sign of moving.

"Turn out the lamp, will ya?" Nick asks, and Matt obeys. "Thank you. Night night.”

"Night," Matt replies, settling down and pulling the duvet up over both their shoulders. Nick closes his eyes and focuses on the sound of Matt's breathing, listening to it slowly even out. He feels like he could really get used to this.

-

On Wednesday, Matt goes home after he’s done work in a defiant fit. He is absolutely _not_ a horribly Nick-dependent shadow of his former self. He even goes so far as to try putting on his own clothes, but an hour later he’s back in Nick’s jumper--it’s more comfortable, he tells himself--and one very long film later he’s texting Nick random emojis. 

Nick is sitting on his sofa eating Chinese takeaway and Skyping with Aimee when Matt texts. He stops listening to Aimee’s rant about the service in airports entirely in order to carefully select emojis to reply with, and he doesn’t look up until Aimee huffs at him. “What?” he asks. 

“Are you texting Matt?” Aimee asks. “He’s slept in your bed three nights in a row now, and I would be willing to put money on him staying tonight, too.”

Nick frowns at her. “He’s not even here,” he protests.

Aimee rolls her eyes. “You’re texting him,” she says like its obvious, even though Nick had never confirmed that, thank you very much. “You’ll tell him to come over, and then he’ll stay, and it’s going to keep happening. What’s up with that, hmmm?” 

“He’s heartbroken,” Nick says, poking at his noodles so that he doesn’t have to look at Aimee. “I’m trying to be a good friend. Wouldn’t you do the same?” 

“To a point, maybe,” Aimee says. “But for my friend, not for the guy I’ve got a not-so-secret crush on.”

Nick makes a face. “I haven’t got a _crush_ on him.” 

“Mmmm,” Aimee hums, disbelieving. “Sure. That’s been true all these years.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Nick says. His phone chimes with an incoming text; Matt’s sent him a frowning devil and another sad face. 

“It means at least something,” Aimee says as Nick sends Matt a sad face and revolving hearts. He adds _come over?_ because he’s clearly not fooling anybody, so why even bother. 

“It doesn’t mean anything to him,” Nick says. “Other than that he’s sad and I’m good at distracting him from being sad. And my jumpers seem to be really comfortable, because he keeps stealing them.”

Aimee doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, which is quite the feat through a webcam. “You’re insane,” she tells him. “Have you asked him over yet?”

“Already did, yeah,” Nick admits. 

Aimee sighs. 

-

Keith Lemon is the definition of a stressful guest. Matt spends the entire morning, pretty much from the time he wakes up, in a tizzy. Nick kind of likes it, because it’s a lot better than the moping. A lot more Finchy. 

Keith is a right laugh, though, and Nick has fun with the interview whilst Matt tries not to hover and have a panic about potential swearing or inappropriate jokes, and about halfway through things get really weird.

“But you’ve been in _Heat_ of late,” Keith says off the back of Nick mentioning the tabloids. 

“What?” Nick squawks into the mic. “I’ve what?” 

“Heat magazine,” Keith clarifies. “I’ve read about you and your producer, all tucked away into a corner.”

“Tucked away in a corner,” Nick repeats, laughing. “Us or the story?”

“Both!” Keith says, bursting into raucous laughter. Matt eyes the fader for Keith’s mic, tempted to slide it down and live in peace once more. “Apparently Fincham’s been seen around your flat quite a bit this week.” 

“Has he?” Nick turns to Matt. “Have you been sneaking into my flat when I’m not there?” 

Matt sighs. “Yes,” he says. “That’s where all your crisps have been going.”

“Ugh, Finchy, how _could_ you?” 

“Sorry,” Matt says, taking great care to sound the least sorry he’s ever been. 

“They think you’re having an affair,” Keith says, waggling his eyebrows. “All lovey-dovey in your flat, right cosy-like. What’s it they called you? Grincham?”

“Finshaw,” Matt says on principle. 

Nick laughs. “An affair! Nah, we’ve been watching films, haven’t we? We get bored, y’know, only working three and a half hours a day. Gotta do something else.”

“Hey now,” Matt says, “we work longer than that.”

“Nah, we don’t,” Nick says flippantly. “But you, Keith, you’ve got a film, haven’t you? Finchy might need to come over so we can watch that, when’s it coming out?” 

Matt thanks his lucky stars for Nick’s deflection prowess. That could have gone sour pretty quickly with someone less able to take control of a conversation, especially knowing Keith Lemon. 

Then he ends up having to deal with Nick trying to demand that they have a reality television programme (“I want my own reality show. Matt Fincham and Nick Grimshaw move into their new love nest. Will the grincham love affair continue off air?”). It’s probably the most absurd idea Matt’s ever heard. (Especially when LMC starts up a debate about what format the show would be in. She advocates for a _Big Brother_ style, and Fiona pitches in that she wouldn’t mind because, since she and LMC are the only ladies on the team, they could share a room. Sometimes Matt thinks they should be the ones everyone teases about being a couple. They certainly giggle in corners together enough.) He’ll cut his losses though--at least that conversation is the last mention of the grincham tabloid affair that morning. 

That is, until he checks his mobile to discover that his sister has sent him a picture of the article. It’s accompanied by a very suggestive series of emojis. He sighs and texts her back _Hannah why :(_. Matt’s life is really strange if he thinks about it too hard. 

-

When Matt is scrolling through the tumblr tag during the Nixtape he comes across a side-by-side comparison of a screencap of him and a picture of Nick out one day wearing the very same jumper Matt had dug out of the back of Nick’s wardrobe that morning. So much for that attempt at a subtle approach. Now the whole Internet knows how pathetic Matt is being. Even more pathetic than spending a lot of time at Nick’s, which is not inherently pathetic. There is a line dictating the acceptable amount of pathetic a person can be, possibly drawn solely in Matt’s head, and he has undeniably crossed it. 

He should go home straight after work today and just stay there, except that he already told Nick he would be at his that evening to help with an ‘impromptu dinner party’, in Nick’s words. 

“You okay?” LMC asks him. He jumps and tries to cover it up by picking up his pen and looking casual. She raises her eyebrows at him. “You’ve been staring at that one post for like three minutes straight now.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m fine,” Matt tells her. 

She doesn’t look like she believes him, going so far as to nudge Fiona’s arm and start having a non-verbal conversation with her that involves a lot of sceptical faces and worried glances in Matt’s direction. Matt can’t say he blames either of them one bit.

-

On Saturday morning Matt rolls over and bumps into Nick, startling himself awake. He lies there, tense, and stares at Nick for a few moments, trying to figure out if he’s still asleep. When he doesn’t stir, Matt relaxes. 

He’d decided last night that it was time for him to go home. He has a plan: he’s going to make Nick breakfast, say thank you for being such a great friend all week, and tell him that he’s going to stop imposing and to please let him stay away.

Matt closes his eyes and contemplates going back to sleep. He doesn’t want to leave this bed, where it’s comfortable and warm. He’s spent so much time here over the past week that it’s started to feel like his safe space, where he can go to forget all his problems, especially if Nick is lying next to him. They haven’t even really talked about it all week, and yet Matt doesn’t think he would have gotten through the week as well as he did without Nick there for him. 

It’s time to cut himself loose, though. He can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he would like to. He gets out of the bed, careful to be sure that he doesn’t leave Nick exposed to the cold air.

Nick shuffles into the kitchen a while later, rubbing at his eyes. Matt is standing at the stove, wearing the same jumper Nick had given him last Sunday, and humming to himself. Nick takes a moment to watch him before saying, “I smell bacon.”

Matt turns around and smiles a little. “That’s because I’m making bacon.”

“Why are you making bacon?” Nick asks. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

Matt doesn’t answer for a minute, poking at the bacon with a spatula. “I’m making you breakfast,” he says eventually. “To say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Nick asks, sitting down at the kitchen table. 

“For, you know,” Matt says.

Nick stares at him. “I feel like I’m missing something. I’ve just woken up, see…”

Matt sighs. “For letting me stay here all week.”

“Oh, well,” Nick says. “That’s not a problem, Finchy.”

“And for, um.” He takes a deep breath. He may as well just put it out there. “Being so supportive. I’m going to go home after breakfast, and, er, I should probably stay there. Get out of your hair.” He shrugs dismissively.

“You don’t have to,” Nick says immediately. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Matt shakes his head. “I need to go,” he says firmly. “I need to remember how to be on my own.”

Nick sighs. “You sound like a bloody romance novel. Fine, go off into the world. Be free. Are you going to make me a bacon butty first?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it,” Matt says. “Hold your horses.”

Nick mock huffs and stomps over to sit at the table. “I’ll be waiting here.”

Matt rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t take him long to assemble the bacon butty and put it on a plate for Nick. It’s not until Nick is halfway through eating it that he looks up at Matt and says, “You’re welcome. And you’re fine, so don’t have one of your silly freak outs when you leave.”

Matt stops short, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. He lowers it and takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do,” Nick says, going back to eating his food. 

Matt can feel how much he’s going to miss Nick’s constant presence already. 

 

_part two_

 

If Matt were not so much of a perfectionist, he thinks, his flat would probably be a mess. The wooden coffee table in the living room is bare save for one empty mug set neatly on top of a coaster, the carpet has vacuum lines on it, and all the throw pillows are neatly lined up on his sofa. It looks perfectly fine, were you to not take into account the overflowing recycling and rubbish bins in the kitchen and the collection of cups gathered in the sink. Matt will probably end up taking those out and doing the washing up tomorrow at the latest, but if he’s not looking at it then it’s like it’s not even there, whereas he can’t stand to sit in a dirty living room feeling sorry for himself.

Clearly sitting in a clean living room feeling sorry for himself is multitudes better. The telly isn’t even on. He’s just staring at a semi-shiny black rectangle, wearing a dark blue jumper that may or may not belong to Nick (he’s honestly not sure anymore), and feeling tragically alone.

It’s not like Matt hadn’t lived alone before, because clearly he’d been living alone the whole time. It’s just that now Lizzie isn’t going to swing by for a surprise visit and end up staying for awhile, and despite the fact that it’s been nearly two weeks, Matt still hasn’t gotten used to it. 

What he really needs is some company. He wishes he’d gone in on a shared flat with his friends way back when they offered. Maybe he should get a pet. Not a dog, because that would be too much of an undertaking for a rebound pet, as it were, but maybe a cat. Fairly low maintenance, but not as impersonal as a fish would be. 

He needs to get a grip. He doesn’t want a cat. He just needs to get up and go clean his kitchen and _adjust._

Matt drags himself to his feet, picking up his empty mug and shuffling to the kitchen to turn on the tap as hot as it will go, generously dumping washing up liquid into the sink. He’s totally in control of his life. He can prove it: one sparkling clean dish at a time. 

-

Nick hadn’t really seemed overly excited for Jack Whitehall to be a guest on the show for all the time he’s known that it was going to happen, but from the way he’s acting now that Jack is actually in the studio, Matt would have thought Nick keeps a secret Jack Whitehall shrine on his desk akin to Chloe’s shrine to Harry Styles. He laughs at literally everything Jack says--and Jack is very funny, Matt laughs sometimes too, but not _everything_ deserves that much laughter.

It becomes clear during the music break in the middle of Jack’s interview that Nick is definitely flirting with him, cracking jokes across the desk and listening intently to Jack as if there’s no one else in the room. It’s massively inappropriate, Matt thinks, especially if they’re going to continue this on air. This is a national radio show broadcasting to millions of people who definitely _don’t_ want to listen to Nick flirt shamelessly.

Ian notices Matt watching them and raises his eyebrows. “What’s up with you?” he asks. “Do we need to clear the area of hazardous objects?”

“No, I’m fine,” Matt mutters. He stares resolutely at his computer until Jack asks if he still has time to go for a quick wee, and Nick assures him that yes, of course he does, as long as he’s quick about it. Jack winks when he says he will be. 

As soon as Jack’s out of the room, Matt can’t help but turn to Nick. “Stop flirting. You’re at work, not a bar,” he says. It comes out rather a lot more admonishing than he’d been aiming for, and he can see LMC look up from her computer and stare at him. He ignores her.

“Whoa there, Finchy,” Nick says. He looks puzzled and slightly amused, which only serves to get on Matt’s nerves even more. “We’re just chatting.”

“Well, keep it more professional,” Matt says sternly. “All right?” 

Nick stares at Matt for a moment before nodding. “Okay, Mr Boss Man,” he says, visibly annoyed now. He picks up his mobile and steadfastly refuses to look at Matt.

“Tetchy,” Fiona whispers to Matt under the guise of giving him some papers as Jack comes back into the studio. He glares at her and chooses not to respond.

-

Nick is mindful of Matt’s request for space over the next month, inasmuch as he can be when they spend every day together. He tries not to take it too far--he doesn’t avoid Matt, and he invites him to things if he would have done anyway. Somewhere along the way he gets it in his head that he’s doing it for himself: if he doesn’t actively spend every minute with Matt, then he doesn’t have to think about Matt as much, and then he can better ignore any potential emotions he may be having. 

The work Christmas party kind of sneaks up on Nick, despite the fact that, one by one, people have been moving over to the new studios at BBC Broadcasting House, leaving the team alone in Dump Towers, as Nick has taken to calling it. 

“It’s so lonely here,” Nick says to Fiona before the show starts on their second last morning in the basement of Yalding House. “There’s practically tumbleweed in the corridors.”

“Yeah, thought I felt a gust of desert wind on my way in this morning,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes. Nick huffs. “I get what you mean, though,” she adds. “One last hurrah tonight and tomorrow morning, and then we’re free.”

“And what a glorious hurrah it will be,” Nick declares. “Right, Finchy?” He turns to where Matt usually is and frowns, looking around the studio. “Is Matt here yet?”

Fiona bites back her laughter at the confused look on Nick’s face. “Um, no,” she says.

“Oh,” Nick says. He goes off to get himself coffee, looking slightly forlorn.

-

With all the lights turned down and the studios full of people, Nick is slightly reminded of his last night time show, except with added strung-up fairy lights and mistletoe everywhere. There’s also a lot more yelling, the music is constant and much louder, and none of it is being broadcast--really, the only similarity is the venue. Nick’s got quite a few drinks in him and is a bit nostalgic, so sue him. 

“You don’t look like you’re having _near_ enough fun, Grimmy!” Annie yells in his ear, her Irish accent twice as thick as usual. “Here, love, have another drink! Come dance!”

Nick takes the bottle she shoves in his hand and lets her drag him over to what he would hazard to call the dance floor. It’s certainly where everyone is dancing, anyway. Whoever is on the decks at the moment seems to be addicted to playing heavy bass mixes, which lends itself particularly well to both grinding on and being grinded on by basically everyone. Nick thinks he might have done both with Alice Levine and Phil Taggart within the space of five minutes. He’s not sure if that’s an accomplishment or mildly disturbing. He’ll have to ask Finchy tomorrow. Or tonight, if he can find him. 

On that thought, he makes his way to the edge of the throng of people to more safely check his phone. It’s nearly two--so pretty late, but not quite laughable yet. He’s pretty sure he’s going to make it to laughable. 

He nips over to where all the drinks are and gets caught up in a conversation with Scott, if yelling what basically amounts to nonsense at each other and then laughing can really be counted as conversation. Eventually Nick thinks to yell, “Have you seen Fincham?” which Scott needs him to repeat twice before realisation dawns on his face and he gestures at the door to the hallway.

“Think I saw him out there somewhere!” 

“Cheers, mate!” Nick lifts his bottle in a toast to Scott and gets one back. 

Nick wanders over to the door, stopping to chat with (yell with) a few people on the way, and he’s just wondering if maybe Finchy was sensible and has actually already gone home when he bumps into him in the doorway. 

“Nick!” Matt shouts as soon as he realises who he’s run into. His hands are wrapped around Nick’s upper arms, and he doesn’t much feel like moving them. 

Nick certainly doesn’t mind Matt touching him. “Matt!” he shouts back. “I’ve been looking for you!” 

“Have you? I’m right here!” 

“Yeah, I see that!” Nick sways a little and wishes he wasn’t holding this bottle so he could touch Matt’s face. It’s a nice face. Maybe it’s best that he’s holding this bottle. 

Matt’s grip tightens on Nick’s arms, and he leans in closer. “Look, we’re under the mistletoe,” he says right into Nick’s ear. He giggles, laughter bubbling against Nick’s neck as Nick looks up at what is indeed mistletoe. 

“We’re not gonna snog, are we?” Nick asks. When he looks back down, Matt’s face is right by his, and he’s already rethinking that statement. Maybe Matt likes drunken snogging; he didn’t in uni, but maybe he does now. Nick laughs, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Matt grins wide, his nose and the corners of his eyes scrunching up the smallest bit. “No snogging,” he says loudly and firmly, but he’s still so close that Nick can feel him breathing. He smells, unsurprisingly, like whiskey and ginger beer. Nick thinks he might be leaning in to kiss him despite his words, but if he’d been moving at all and it wasn’t just Nick’s imagination, he stops and looks at Nick. 

Nick kisses Matt on the cheek and steps back, grabbing Matt’s hands when they slip off his arms and tugging him forward. “Dance?” he asks, and Matt nods, following him easily. 

They try not to stay for too much longer, using their ready made ‘early morning’ excuse to escape, and Nick is kind of regretting it when they’re standing outside in the cold waiting for their separate cabs. It had been nice and warm pressed up against Matt on the dance floor, and he looks cold in his partially unbuttoned shirt. Nick wants to ask Matt to skip his cab and just come home with him, but he bites his lip and doesn’t say it.

The show is probably going to be a wreck tomorrow, but Nick thinks it was worth it.

-

They only have to drag themselves awake at absurd o’clock for another week after the party before they go on holidays. By the end of it Matt is more than ready to go visit his parents and not be in his empty flat anymore.

It comes with its own set of issues, of course, the main one being that he’d spent the last couple of Christmas seasons trading off time between his family and Lizzie’s, and now he’s got nowhere to be but his parents’. He deals with this by pretending not to think about it and eating a lot of food. He feels like he’s trading his mum’s not-so-subtle worried glances for extra helpings of basically everything, which is an arrangement he’s completely fine with for the time being. 

His sister isn’t impressed. Hannah takes to telling Wendy to stop coddling him, making comments about Matt being friendly with Nick, and staring pointedly at Matt whenever she’s in the same room as him. She’s doing her best to annoy him as much as possible, and Matt wants to go back to when she was five and the solution to this could involve trying to pull her pigtails off her head. 

“I just want you to remember,” Hannah says on Christmas Eve, when their parents have already gone to bed and they’re sitting up in the living room drinking, “who it was that had to listen to you talk nonstop about Nick when you came home from uni for the hols. I’ll give you a hint: it was me. So don’t think that when you flirt with him on the radio these days that I don’t notice, because I notice.”

“We don’t flirt,” Matt says, then frowns and backtracks. “Okay, so there’s definitely flirting, but it’s a big joke, yeah? Entertainment for the masses.”

Hannah sighs. “The worst part is that I think both you and Nick actually believe that.” 

Matt avoids looking at her. “...because it’s true,” he says slowly.

“Whatever, sweetheart. Tell that to the extensive texting thread Mum has with Nick,” Hannah says, picking up her empty wine glass and getting up. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning. Happy Christmas ‘n’ that.”

“Happy Christmas,” Matt mumbles, sinking farther down on the sofa and staring into his glass.

-

Nick also goes home for the holidays, taking Aimee with him since her family is in America and she’s practically a part of his anyway, and he finds himself in a similar situation to Matt’s, except it occurs a day later and he has two people ganging up on him instead of one. 

“The first step to recovery,” Harry says slowly, carefully putting his sandwich together, “is admitting that you have a problem.”

“Did you drive over here in the middle of the night just to start walking me through a twelve-step program?” Nick asks, cutting his own sandwich in half. “I’m not addicted to anything.”

Harry makes an exasperated face. Nick sticks his tongue out at him.

“Not sure that’s the greatest analogy, no,” Aimee says. “But Harry has a point, saying that you need to admit it.” 

Nick doesn’t answer, choosing instead to go into the dining room and sit at the table. They join him promptly, and Aimee stares at him until he gives in. “Admit what?” Nick asks, stubborn.

Aimee and Harry exchange a look. “That you’re miserable and alone and wish you had a certain someone to share your life and bed and terrible jokes with,” Harry says. 

“Oh, fuck it, you’ve caught me,” Nick says. He reaches for Harry’s hand and grabs it dramatically. “Hazza, I’m in love with you. Please quit your job as an international pop star and spend your days catering to my every whim.”

Harry laughs, tugging his hand away. “Shut up,” he says. “Be serious.”

“I’m _so_ serious,” Nick says. “I’ve had this conversation too many times. So maybe I fancied Finchy in uni, who wouldn’t? That was ages ago. I’m over it.”

“Maybe you _were_ ,” Aimee says. “I don’t think that’s the case anymore.”

Nick makes a face and takes a large bite of his sandwich so that he doesn’t have to say anything. 

Harry eyes him. “You talk this in circles every time, don’t you?”

“He does, it’s infuriating,” Aimee says. “I try so hard, and look at the thanks I get.” 

Harry shakes his head sadly. “You’re so inconsiderate,” he tells Nick. “Making your best friend suffer like this.”

“Lemme ‘lone,” Nick mumbles.

“It might be time to let this go,” Harry says to Aimee, who immediately looks displeased and slightly betrayed. 

“Yes, Harry! Talking sense!” Nick exclaims. 

“You’re just not going to get through to him,” Harry continues. “Best to give up and let him make a mess of it himself.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Nick protests. 

Aimee’s expression has turned thoughtful now. “You’re more sensible than one might think. And devious, too. I like it.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “So if he’s ever being stupid, don’t even try to reason with him. Just text me and we’ll complain together.”

“Deal,” Aimee says, reaching across the table to shake on it. 

“I hate you both,” Nick says. “You’re not invited to Christmas next year.”

Aimee snorts. “Please. You wouldn’t even have to be here for Eileen and Peter to welcome me and Harry in with open arms.”

Unfortunately, Nick thinks, that is entirely true.

-

Matt sees the tweet when he’s on his way to work on a cold January morning, though he can see that Nick tweeted it the night before--after Matt had already been asleep, and by all rights Nick should have been as well. Matt’ll have to give him shit for that. 

It reads _secret double life @mattfincham?? you’re not actually james bond_ , and Matt has no idea what Nick is on about. 

He has some time to think about it before he actually sees Nick, and by the time he spots Nick sitting at his desk, he thinks he might have figured out what it is. 

“Good morning,” he says to Nick and Fiona.

“Morning,” Nick mumbles, taking a sip of his coffee. He’s got his chair pushed away from the desk, leaning back in it and looking like he might fall asleep right there. Fiona waves to Matt, doing something on her computer.

Matt is suddenly unsure if he should even bring it up. “Time to wake up,” he says instead. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick says. “Give me a minute.”

Matt does, going off to the studio to set things up. He grabs _Heat_ off Fiona’s desk as he passes; he still needs to write Showquizness.

“I’m rather tired this morning,” Nick tells the nation during the second link of the show. “I don’t know what it is, must be January. What about you, Finchy?”

“I’m good,” Matt says. “Feeling rested enough. Maybe you shouldn’t stay up so late tweeting.”

Nick’s eyes widen. “Yeah, we need to talk about the big news I got last night. Fifi, did you know that Matt is a secret DJ?”

Matt’s stomach drops even though he’d thought he’d been prepared for it. There it is. “It’s not a _secret_ ,” he protests before Fiona can respond. 

“It is when I didn’t know about it,” Nick says. “Lily Allen--excuse me, Lily Rose Cooper--had to tell me! Said she saw you DJ’ing a party she went to this weekend.”

“Was she there?” Matt asks weakly. “Didn’t see her.” 

“She was there,” Nick confirms. Fiona is looking between Matt and Nick worriedly now. “Said she thought I would have known that you DJ, but no, you’re doing your Bond impression.”

“I knew,” Fiona interjects. “He’s mentioned it before.”

Nick huffs. “Not to me. Aren’t we friends, Finchy? Don’t I get to know things about your life? God.”

“Er, well--” 

“I just think that if you’re going to do _secret things_ they shouldn’t be a secret from me, because I am _obviously_ the most important,” Nick interrupts. “How am I supposed to keep up my end of this friendship when you’re leaving me out of things, hm?”

Matt starts laughing more out of relief than anything. Nick is being far too dramatic to be actually mad. If he were genuinely upset, he wouldn’t be going on about it.

“Why are you laughing?” Nick demands. His voice goes up in pitch so he’s basically shrieking. “It’s not funny!”

“Sorry,” Matt says, trying to catch his breath. Nick makes an audible pouting noise. “It’s just not really a big deal,” Matt adds. “My mate and I DJ together sometimes, so what?”

“Shut up, it is a big deal. When’s your next gig? I’m coming to see it,” Nick says. 

“We can discuss that off air. Do you want to be my Pussy Galore?” 

“What?” Nick asks, and doesn’t give Matt enough time to respond before saying, “Yeah, of course I do.”

Fiona looks confused about what just happened. Matt gets that. He’s a bit confused himself. 

“Good,” Matt says. “Play a record now.”

“Just one more thing.” Nick turns the bed all the way down. “Matt Fincham, are you feeling randy today?”

Matt rolls his eyes and sighs at the throwback to when the actor from _Mr Selfridge_ hadn’t known what randy meant. Nick has refused to let it go ever since. “No,” he says.

“Shame,” Nick says, hitting play on Rihanna and fading down their mics. “I really do want to come to your next gig, Finchy.” 

Matt shrugs. “That can probably be arranged.” He’s still stuck on Nick’s sly grin when he’d made that joke, clearly the exact brand of over-exaggerated flirting Matt had been talking to Hannah about over Christmas. Normally Matt thinks nothing of it, they’ve been at it for so long, but Hannah’s voice is lingering in his mind and everything feels a bit different than usual, like a warm embrace.

It’s probably all in his head, though. He’s not going to dwell on it.

-

Matt doesn’t have another DJ gig until closer to the end of January, but as soon as he tells Nick when it is, Nick writes it down no less than three times and tells a bunch of people so that his chances of being invited somewhere else and forgetting are lessened. 

Aimee assures him that she wouldn’t let him forget anyway, but Nick wants to be extra sure. 

Matt and his friend make a good team. They have knack for keeping the mood steadily at the point where everyone can’t help but dance, and Matt looks right at home behind the decks, bouncing along to the beat. Nick stays out in the audience for awhile, mostly dancing with Aimee, but eventually he decides to see if they’ll let him up to where Matt is.

A security guard does try to stop him when it becomes clear he’s not just trying to lean across to request a song, but Matt spots him and waves to the lady to let him through. 

“What’s this house bullshit?” Nick asks loudly when he’s close enough. “I was expecting some lovely Clannad.”

“Shut up, no, you weren’t,” Matt says. “Have you met James? James, this is Nick.”

James nods and reaches over to shake Nick’s hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” Nick half shouts. James shoots him a double thumbs up. Not talking, right, probably the smarter choice here. Of course Matt has smart friends. He is, himself, very smart. Except when he’s being dumb. He’s a very layered individual, secret skills and all. Nick is boring in comparison.

Matt nudges Nick with his shoulder. “See, it’s not exciting at all,” he says. “Not any different than you doing it.”

“No, except it’s you doing it,” Nick replies. “And you’re actually good.”

“Thanks,” Matt says, too flustered to really know how to react to the compliment--or to anything, really. He’d thought Nick coming wasn’t going to be this big of a deal, but apparently it is. He’s glad for it when James gestures for him to come look at the request list and start adding songs into their playlist. 

Nick watches Matt, still marvelling over how he still hasn’t unpacked everything that makes him up, despite how long they’ve known each other. Maybe Matt has just picked all this stuff up since Nick left uni, and Nick doesn’t have to feel bad for not noticing back then. That just makes Nick think that he should have changed more than he has since uni, though. He really does need to get some more hobbies or something in order to be anywhere near Matt’s level of depth and ability to be interesting. He needs to stop sitting around watching _The X Factor_ and get out and be _cool._

He’s not entirely sure yet how he’s planning on going about this, but he definitely _will_ be doing it. Just as soon as he’s done harassing Finchy. 

-

The first thing that springs to mind when Nick tries to think outside of the box for things that will give him more depth is knitting. He might be slightly intoxicated when he comes up with this, but he’s definitely sober when he actually goes out to a specialty shop and buys wool and knitting needles and has a lovely chat with the lady working there about proper techniques for beginners. 

Aimee thinks he’s completely mad and keeps pointedly mentioning his inability to focus even on something as simple as a twenty minute episode of a TV show. Nick is determined, though. He is unlocking new depths of himself. It’s not something that should be easy or taken lightly.

When he tells Aimee this, she makes the actually rather valid point that maybe the depth he needs to unlock is simply actually paying attention to a film or two, but Nick’s already bought things and started watching YouTube videos, so he can’t just back out now.

“I’ve started learning to knit,” Nick informs the nation gleefully. Matt stares at him across the desk. He, LMC, and Fiona have already been regaled with Nick’s newfound hobby and shown his attempt at a sock. Matt still can’t quite believe it. “I’ve made a sock!”

“That you have,” Fiona says into her mic. 

“Should we take a picture for the listeners?” LMC asks, already getting out her phone to tweet about it. 

“Oooh, yes,” Nick agrees, and then he starts going on about exactly what kind of stitch he used and how he’d kept wandering away and coming back to it, until finally Matt sighs loudly and cuts him off.

“That’s enough about knitting. We’re being more butch, remember? And acquiring a _youth_ audience?” 

“Ah, yes,” Nick says. “More butch, how could I forget. Do you think Fearne would like it if I knitted some little baby socks?” 

Matt resists the urge to actually throw his hands up. “The news,” he says. “Just go to the news.”

“Fine, fine,” Nick says. “It’s coming up to eight o’clock, and here’s Tina Daheley with Newsbeat.”

“Thank you,” Matt says when the mics are faded down. “I still can’t believe you’re actually knitting.”

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Finchy,” LMC says, gesturing for Nick to pose with his sock so she can take a picture. Matt watches Nick make a stupid excited face and sighs. 

“I’m asking Sara if Fearne would like baby socks,” Nick informs Matt. “And I’m telling Ian about the knitting when he gets here.”

Matt frowns. “I’m willing to concede to the first part, but can’t you tell Ian off air?” 

“He does need to mention that I’ve posted the picture on Twitter,” LMC points out. 

Nick looks smug. Matt gives up. “Fine, go for it.”

All in all, Nick’s knitting craze lasts two weeks and results in one disastrous normal sized sock and a pair of actually pretty good baby socks that Nick packages up and puts in the post for Fearne’s baby. Nick considers it two weeks pretty well spent, even if Aimee was right the whole time and knitting definitely isn’t for him. He’s been trying to come up with something else--at first Ian offers him his advanced dot-to-dot books, but it makes Nick’s brain feel like it’s shutting down and he actually falls asleep at one point, so he gladly gives up on that. Ian mostly just seems amused by him.

He’s considering the idea that he might want to do something more butch and youth-oriented, to make Finchy happy, so probably some sort of sport. He could do football, maybe find a recreational league, but that seems too typical, and he figures he doesn’t want to do all that running about. 

Then Aimee ropes him into watching a film because James Franco is in it and it hits him.

-

“Rock climbing,” Matt says. “He’s going _rock climbing_.”

“That is what he said,” Ian agrees. 

Matt shakes his head, staring down the hallway Nick disappeared down right after the show before looking back at the team. “Seriously, I think we might need to stage an intervention.”

“An intervention,” Fiona repeats sceptically.

“Yes!” Matt says. “He’s trying to rock climb. Have you seen his arms?”

Ian shrugs. “Well, he _can_ do a lot of press-ups, we’ve done those challenge things in the studio.”

“We did yoga that one time,” LMC pitches in. 

Matt really doesn’t want to think about Nick in his gym kit doing press-ups, for reasons he prefers not to dwell on too much. At all, ever, but especially right now whilst trying to have a serious discussion with his coworkers. 

“We should probably leave him be, is all I’m saying,” Ian says. “At least it’s more butch than knitting, I’d figure you’d approve.” Matt thinks he’s sort of got a point with that one. 

“Maybe he’s trying to impress someone,” Fiona says. Ian and LMC nod their agreement feverishly, and Fiona and LMC exchange a significant look that Matt can’t parse.

Matt frowns. He can’t imagine who Nick thinks he’d be impressing by going rock climbing--though he had said something about James Franco when he’d been rambling on about his revelation or whatever. “Well, he’d better not hurt himself doing it, that’s all.” 

“Aw, are you worried, Finchy?” LMC asks, waggling her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Matt says truthfully. “We’ve got a radio show to present to millions every morning, I need my presenter in top form.” 

Fiona sighs and turns back to her computer. “I can’t listen to this anymore. Someone let me know if we’re discussing something useful, otherwise I’ll be here.”

“Sorry,” Ian says, clapping Matt on the shoulder and going to sit at his desk. Matt looks at LMC hopefully, but she just shakes her head at him. 

“He’ll be fine,” she assures him. Matt figures she’s probably right, but it’s unfortunately not really going to stop him from worrying about it.

Thankfully, Nick only tries it twice--it’s a lot harder than he’d thought it would be, though he hadn’t really figured it would be easy, and he can’t convince _any_ of his friends to come with him, which makes the whole thing pointless, really. 

Matt breathes a private sigh of relief when Nick lets them all know that he’s given it up. He doesn’t think it gets past anybody but Nick.

-

Nick mostly buys the model airplane kit because he sees it on a shelf when he’s wandering around Tesco and thinks _people do that as a hobby!_ When he’s actually got it out, the pieces spread across his dining room table, and is squinting at the instructions, he realises he may have made a bit of a mistake.

He didn’t even need Aimee to tell him this time. He’s clearly improving. 

He tries to get Aimee to help him, but she takes one look at the table and says, “As if I’m touching that,” so he’s forced to go to Plan B--texting the first person on his contacts list that he’s fairly sure is in London and forcing them to come over.

That person ends up being Henry, who arrives promptly with alcohol, which is everything Nick loves in a friend. “No wonder we’ve been friends for so long,” he says to Henry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry says. “What have you gotten into now?” 

“He’s completely useless,” Aimee informs him on her way out the door. “I’m going to Ian’s. Have fun, boys.” She closes the door hard behind her; it isn’t quite a slam, but it’s not far from it.

Henry looks from the closed door to Nick. “What’s crawled up her arse?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I reckon I am pretty useless,” Nick says. “Come on, I’ve bought a model airplane.”

Henry follows him to the table and sits down, picking up a piece that Nick thinks might go on the wing. “I was hoping you weren’t serious,” Henry says. 

“Deadly serious,” Nick says. “I’ve been trying to widen my horizons, discover new depths of myself, shit like that.”

Henry puts down the piece and looks at Nick. “You’ve lost the plot,” he says, deadpan.

Nick nods. “We should probably get drunk.”

“You said it,” Henry agrees. 

They get very drunk, and Nick immediately starts in on the complaining about his life. whilst Henry alternately stares into his glass and at Nick. “I just want to have _layers_ , you know? I want to be hard to figure out and interesting once you do. And _cool._ Like Finchy. Finchy is all of that, and I just want to impress him, right? That’s how I’ll know if I’ve succeeded. Or whatever the fuck. Fuck.”

“Wait,” Henry says. “Hold the fuck up, oh my God. You’re telling me you want to impress _Matt Fincham_? The same one from uni? That you now work with?” 

“The very same,” Nick says, pouring himself more vodka. 

“Are you _still_ hung up on him?” Henry asks, incredulous. 

Nick pauses, his drink halfway to his mouth, and slowly puts it back down as he considers the question. He pictures Matt’s face, the fond grin he gets when Nick flirts with him on air. “Fuck,” he says. “Jesus fuck. I really am. I really--fuck.”

Henry reaches over to clumsily pat Nick’s shoulder. “Tough break, mate.”

“Why is this my life?” Nick asks. “How did I get here?” 

“Fuck knows,” Henry says. He eyes the pieces of the model airplane. “Somehow I don’t think Matt Fincham would be all that impressed by this.”

Nick stares. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was--I’ll give it to Rudy or someone. One of those small godchildren, they’ll like it.”

“Great plan,” Henry says. “Let’s go find something shit to watch on telly. I don’t know about you, but I feel like laughing at people’s bad taste.”

Nick is fully on board--he could really do with the distraction from how he’d just admitted that he really has it bad for Matt, and he’s pretty sure Henry knows that. “Maybe _What Not to Wear_ is on,” he says.

“Good man,” Henry says, getting to his feet and waiting for Nick to do so as well so that they can hang on to each other to make their drunken way the five feet to the living room.

God bless Henry Holland, Nick thinks. 

-

Nick makes a particularly hilarious call to Daniel P Carter on Call or Delete in which he leaves a message asking him if he’ll bake a cake in the shape of a penis for his and Matt’s one year anniversary of working together. He kind of forgets that it happened, to be honest, until Daniel actually _does_ bring in a penis shaped cake for them.

It’s not even the kind of mockery you would expect it to be, either. It’s so realistic that Nick finds it kind of terrifying, actually. Cake should not have veins.

It has “Happy Anniversary Grimmy & Finchy” nicely lettered in icing next to it, though, and Nick secretly gets a bit emotional. He just feels _so lucky_ to be working with Matt again, even it has the unfortunate side effect of bringing back his gross feelings from his uni days. He’s trying not to think about it. The feelings are there; he’s not denying that anymore, and he isn’t expecting them to go away. If he doesn’t think about it, though, then maybe they’ll subside to a low level part of his day-to-day existence, and he won’t be constantly unable to think of anything without also thinking about Matt. Or he’ll just get used to it. That’s probably his best option at this point.

Matt can’t really believe that this is his life. He feels like that a lot, but when he’s holding a box of penis cake and smiling for a picture, Nick grinning next to him, it’s a particularly poignant feeling. 

“What’s our actual anniversary, do you figure?” Matt asks a bit later, during a long chunk of back-to-back songs. 

Nick frowns. “Of meeting?” 

“Sure, yeah.”

“It’s in October some time, innit? You applied to volunteer at the station and I was the one who showed you around.”

Matt nods, trying to dredge up the memories. “Well, the station manager technically showed me around,” he points out. “You just kind of said ‘look, this is where we keep the records’ and then complained about not being allowed a drink in the studio.”

Nick shrugs. “I showed you the important stuff,” he says flippantly. “Like the coffee machine, your best friend of two years.”

“All three,” Matt disagrees. “We became possibly even closer once you were gone.”

“Did you?” Nick laughs. “Must’ve been hard without me.”

Matt shrugs and refuses to confirm, busying himself with some editing he needs to get done. Nick takes that as a confirmation in itself. 

“Hey,” Nick says after a bit. “It’ll have been ten years this year.”

“Since we met?” Matt asks. Nick nods. “Wow, thirty percent of my life spent fixing your messes.”

Nick scoffs, but he feels the same. He wonders what life would have been like if they’d never gone to the same uni. Would they have eventually met anyway, maybe here at Radio 1? Would they have just never met? How much different of a person would Nick be without Finchy? It’s difficult to even wrap his head around, so he stops trying. “Do you want to go see if we can get more cake before it’s all gone?” he asks Matt, standing.

Matt bites his lip, considering, but he hits save on his file and stands as well. “Yeah, okay.”

-

Nick dyes his hair pink.

No one had really been expecting him to do it, though it had been mentioned during meetings about the Comic Relief show. Matt had privately thought that it was a bit much; Nick was already doing so much that pink hair just seemed like a step over the line into a slightly cruel lasting reminder. Plus, Matt wasn’t sure Nick would look good with pink hair, and looks mattered to Nick. He’d be upset if he looked stupid, really, even if he pretended he wasn’t bothered. They did pencil in the pink hair to be done after the show if there are enough donations, but nobody really thinks they’ll make it to 250 000 pounds anyway.

The maggot bath was bad enough that Matt wouldn’t have blamed Nick if he didn’t want to do anything else for charity ever again. Matt wouldn’t even want to watch Nick get buckets of maggots poured on him again, let alone actually be the one sitting in a bath of maggots. 

(When Nick gets out and goes to change during a break in the show, he grabs Matt’s hand and tugs him into the toilets with him. Matt follows, ignoring the supervision he should really be doing, and stands with Nick in a corner of the bathroom, letting Nick hold his hand.

“Sorry,” Nick says after what can’t be more than thirty seconds. “I just needed a moment.”

Matt shakes his head, words stuck in his throat that he feels like he should be saying but can’t formulate.)

It seems, for a bit, like the pink hair isn’t going to be necessary, but of course in the end they raise enough money for Nick to grin and happily say he’ll do it. It’s good, anyway, that their Red Nose Day show didn’t fail in comparison to Moyles’, the silent fear of everyone involved.

The hair bleaching and then dying process takes so long to be done that Matt doesn’t get to see it until the next morning. It looks tenfold better than Matt had ever dreamed it would. He chalks the taste of sweetness in his mouth up to cravings and tells Nick he looks like “candy floss with too much flavouring.” Nick smiles at him. 

-

“One of my friends is going to a Zumba class this week,” Nick mentions whilst flipping through _Heat_ one Friday morning. “I was thinking I might go with, see if I like it.”

Matt turns around from where he’d been checking that the equipment is all right for the Nixtape. It _sounds_ like Nick is still trying to find himself a new hobby. He’d honestly thought Nick had forgotten about that. “Sorry, what did you just say?” 

Nick closes the magazine. “Might try out Zumba,” he repeats. “Pixie and Alexa say it does wonders.”

“No,” Matt says almost involuntarily. Nick raises his eyebrows at him. “I mean--enough already. I distinctly remember you saying not all that long ago that you think Zumba is ‘not for you’ and a ‘bit odd’. What’s wrong with you?”

“Can’t I change my mind?” Nick asks, affronted. Matt’s right, of course, he definitely did say something like that, but _broadening horizons_ and that. 

“Not when you’ve been doing this weird hobby seeking thing for nearly two months,” Matt says. “It’s weird.”

“It’s not been two months. I started knitting at the beginning of February, and now it’s only mid-March.”

“I said nearly, and regardless that’s _not the point_ , Nicholas.”

“I just want a new hobby!” Nick protests. “What’s wrong with that?”

Matt sighs in frustration. “ _Nothing_ , you just keep picking the worst things. If you really need a new hobby that badly, I’ll teach you to play the bloody piano.”

Nick’s face lights up. Matt nearly physically cringes back. “Really?” Nick asks. 

“Er, well.” Matt says. “Yeah, really.” He really needs to start thinking before he says things. 

“That sounds great,” Nick says. “Thanks, Finchy.” 

Nick immediately informs the entire nation as soon as the record that had been playing ends, despite the fact that they don’t have time for filler if they want to be on time for the news. Matt sighs, resigned. He really only has himself to blame.

 

_part three_

 

Matt’s hands are ridiculous. This has never been more clear to Nick than it is here in this moment, sitting next to Matt on his piano bench and watching him play scales and chords, long fingers pressing down the keys skilfully. Nick wishes Matt would touch _him_ skilfully. It’s probably not the best line of thought whilst sitting with his thigh pressed against Matt’s. Nick tries very hard not to shift uncomfortably. 

“Here,” Matt says. “Try to play a C major chord.” 

Nick isn’t sure what that is because he honestly hasn’t been listening to Matt talk him through his warmup routine, but Matt is all too aware of that and is already reaching to tug Nick’s right hand to the piano. “Thumb here and then…” he says, positioning Nick’s fingers on the keys. “Keep your wrist arched. Okay.” Nick plays the chord and feels pretty pleased with himself. Matt smiles at him. “Good!”

“Can I learn to play a pop song?” Nick asks. He has it in his head that it would be cool to be able to pull out Beyoncé on the piano during a party. It seems to work for Finchy, anyway. 

“Erm,” Matt says, trying not to falter under Nick’s hopeful gaze. “That’s not how learning to play the piano works. We’ve got to start you on these grade one books.” He picks up the music book he’d set to the side and shows Nick the cover. 

Nick takes the book from Matt and stares at it for a moment before flipping through it. “This looks new. Like, not like it was yours when you started learning to play piano. Why do you have tiny books?”

Matt takes the book back and opens it to the first lesson, avoiding Nick’s look as he props it up on the piano. “I teach piano?”

“You do?” Nick asks, eyes wide. “To, like… small children?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Matt shrugs. “It’s fun. I don’t usually have too many students because I don’t want to take up too much of my time, but they come over in the afternoon for lessons.”

“Oh,” Nick says. He’s stuck on picturing Matt helping tiny little fingers the same way he’d just done for Nick and patiently listening as a small child plinks out a simple tune. It’s rather a lot to take in. 

Matt ignores Nick staring at him and points at the book. “See, this line matches this note.” He gestures at the keys. Nick sighs. Matt raises his eyebrows at him. “Yes? Do you have something to say?” 

“I want to learn to play Beyoncé,” Nick says, sounding for all the world like a pouting six year old. He starts humming “Crazy in Love” in Matt’s ear. 

“That’s not--”

“Come _on_ ,” Nick whines. “It’s supposed to be fun, right? This doesn’t look fun.”

Matt huffs. “No one said anything about fun,” he mumbles, but he does close the book. Nick grins and starts actually singing, off-tune and way too loud. “Christ, I don’t even know why I _like_ you,” Matt says, and he’s just leaning over to look at his stack of music books when something clicks. 

He straightens back up and stares at Nick, who now appears to be pretending to play his own accompaniment and isn’t paying any attention. Matt _likes_ him, like properly _likes_ him, and he doesn’t know why he hadn’t bloody well figured that out sooner. It’s perfectly clear now that he likes his stupid floppy hair and his dumb long fingers and his stupid flirty jokes and _God_ , that’s obviously why Matt had felt so weird about the jokes lately. They’re not really just entertaining anymore. Hannah’s going to laugh herself sick. 

That would be why he gets annoyed whenever Nick gets on well with a guest, as well. He’s jealous, which is probably the most absurd thing Matt has ever realised about himself. He needs to get a hold of himself and this problem named Nick Grimshaw he’s apparently acquired. Matt doesn’t even want to think about how many years in the making this has been, lest he actually turn into a boneless mass and flop right off the piano bench out of embarrassment and a touch of despair. 

“Matt’s love got me feeling so crazy right now,” Nick sings, dragging his hand down the keyboard in a cacophony of sound. 

_Yeah_ , Matt thinks, _sounds about right._

-

Matt manages to keep it together well enough for the rest of the so-called piano lesson, but begs off from doing anything else afterward and has a mild breakdown once Nick has gone. It’s only mild because he refuses to let himself full on panic, though maybe going to bed ridiculously early and lying there staring at the ceiling is panic enough. He forces himself to get out of bed the next day, which is probably less of an accomplishment than he builds it up to be in his head. Having genuine feelings for Nick Grimshaw is not a fucking mid-life crisis. If he tells himself this enough, he’ll start to believe it, he’s sure.

He worries the entire way to work about how he’s going to act around Nick. He knows, intellectually, that he was aware of how to act around him before, and he only needs to do the exact same thing now, but he can’t for the life of him push the nervous, fluttery feelings to the side and remember how interaction works.

If Matt is apprehensive, Nick is doing his sun impression, bouncing around the studio with a stupid cheery grin on his face. Fiona even asks him if he’s feeling all right, to which he just shrugs and says, “I’m in a good mood, Fifi! It’s spring. Aren’t you in a good mood?” 

Fiona makes a disparaging face at him that Matt wholeheartedly agrees with. 

Though Matt might feel like Nick is being so upbeat just to annoy him, Nick is genuinely just having a good day. It was fairly nice outside on his way to work, he spent the night before sitting right next to Matt for a good hour at least, and he’s looking forward to a repeat event, so. Life is pretty good. He’s even decided to be cautiously optimistic today about his chances with Matt. Maybe they’re not in the negatives. Maybe it could actually happen.

Nick remains in such high spirits for the entirety of the morning, which makes for a great show but drives Matt up the wall. It’s like every little thing Nick does, his laugh and the way he crosses his legs and taps his pen against Matt’s schedule, is increased tenfold by the time it travels across the desk and hits Matt, and Matt’s heart is constantly trying to beat its way out of his chest. It’s entirely too much, and Matt finds himself making excuses to nip out of the studio and hide from Nick as often as possible, something he succeeds so well in doing that Nick doesn’t really notice. 

By the end of the show Matt is exhausted and thoroughly disgusted with himself, but at least Nick scurries off to do something for _Sweat the Small Stuff_ right after the show and leaves Matt in peace. 

It’s not until mid-afternoon, when he’s idly chatting with Ian, that it occurs to Matt. Ian comments that he wishes there was a holiday coming up soon, and Matt is about to agree when he realises that he could probably ask to take Monday off. An impromptu long weekend would give him the time he needs to collect himself and come back in working order.

Of course, it means that he’s forcing Ian to come in early on Monday, but Ian can handle it. He’s an understanding fellow. (And contractually quasi-obligated to do whatever Matt says. But mostly the understanding thing.)

-

Matt goes to visit Hannah for the weekend because it’s about the only thing he can arrange on short notice that isn’t quite as bad as visiting his parents. She says it’s all right if he comes, but when he arrives on Friday evening and knocks on her door, she opens it and walks away without saying hi. 

“Nice to see you, too,” Matt grumbles, dragging his suitcase in and closing the door behind him. 

“There’s food in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet,” Hannah calls from the living room, already sitting back down on the sofa. Matt goes to check it out despite the fact that he did already eat. There’s a whole container of spaghetti, which Matt takes great pleasure in putting in the microwave. He’s not going to turn down food when it’s offered.

He wanders into the living room with his food and sits on the opposite end of the sofa, squinting at the telly. “What are you watching?” 

“To be honest, I don’t even know,” Hannah says, thumbing her mobile locked and looking over at him. “Are you eating _all_ of that?”

Matt looks down at his pasta and back up at Hannah. “Yes?” 

Hannah sighs, dragging herself to her feet. “I’ll go get the wine.”

“What are you getting wine for? I’m fine,” Matt protests.

He can hear her laughing in the kitchen, which is not at all promising. 

Despite the wine, Hannah doesn’t actually give Matt the dressing down slash interrogation slash multitude of put upon sighs that he was expecting. She just gives him wine, which he appreciates, and then leaves him alone to mope around her house all day Saturday. By the time evening rolls around again, Matt is confused enough to actually snap out of his silent funk long enough to bother asking her why she isn’t rolling her eyes and saying _I told you so._

“I was waiting for you to admit there’s a problem,” Hannah says. “Are you ready to admit there’s a problem?”

Matt is unsure about the answer to this question, so he spends at least twenty minutes contemplating the matter whilst lying on the floor and trying to count grooves in the ceiling. Hannah reads a full fifteen pages of her magazine, judging by how many times she flips the page, before Matt says, “The problem is Nick.”

“Uh huh,” Hannah says. “Duh. What _about_ Nick?”

“You know,” Matt says, waving a hand.

“No,” Hannah says, “I actually really don’t. You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”

Matt glares at her as best he can when he’s on the floor and she’s sitting on the sofa. “I have, you know… feelings for him.”

“Feelings,” Hannah repeats, shaking her head. “Okay, that’s as good as it’s gonna get from you, I assume. So: I told you so.”

“Not really,” Matt says. “If you had, maybe it would have been less of a shock to realise myself.”

Hannah snorts. “That’s stupid. I pretty much flat out said it, you’re just a knob.”

Matt wishes he had a way to protest that, but he really doesn’t. He is a gigantic knob. 

“Anyway, what are you going to do about it?” 

“Move in with you,” Matt says. “I’ve been considering this matter all day, and I really think just quitting my job and hiding out is the best solution.”

“You’re not moving in with me, sunshine,” Hannah scoffs. “Have fun living with Mum and Dad.” 

“Ugh,” Matt says, wrinkling his nose. “Can I join the circus instead?”

Hannah prods Matt in the side with her toes. “No, get the fuck off the floor and handle yourself. Avoiding isn’t _doing._ What are you going to do about it?”

Matt swats at her foot and resolutely refuses to get up. “I don’t want to do anything about it. It’s like, everything is exactly the same except it’s not. Like moving all the furniture the slightest bit. I just want to move it back where it was so that I stop stubbing my toe, because now I see Nick in every little thing and it makes me remember again and it’s stupid.”

“Jesus, you pretentious tosser. You can’t turn around, the only way is forward. And in the meantime, getting drunk again. Or going to bed. Whatever gets you to shut up at this point.”

“It’s been like ten minutes. If that.”

“Ten minutes too long.” Hannah settles back with her magazine again, prodding Matt one last time. He gets up this time, but only to relocate to his bed in the spare room. Bed is really the ultimate escape, especially since the invention of silly mobile phone games.

The weekend stretches on in that Matt doesn’t have anything to do, but by the time Monday rolls around and he wakes up to three annoyed messages from Ian about having to be up so early, Matt wants to hop a time machine back to Friday after work. He keeps looking for texts from Nick, even though he knows Nick won’t message him when he’s on holiday, because Matt’s said so many times that he doesn’t like it and refuses to respond. He can’t help but wish that for once Nick wouldn’t be the one who’s best at keeping to that, which is stupid, just like everything else.

Hannah hugs him goodbye at the door, which is nice, and then she says, “ _Do_ something,” which is also a bit nice in its own way, but mostly just makes Matt want to cry. 

-

“You seem to be in a mood this fine Tuesday morning, Matt Fincham,” Nick says. “Did your holiday not give you a much needed stress relief?”

“It was fine, thank you,” Matt says curtly. “Didn’t have to look at your face the whole time, so.”

“Oooh, harsh,” Nick says. “We didn’t miss you either, did we, Fiona?”

Fiona eyes them both cautiously. “Nah,” she says for the benefit of the listeners. “Had Ian, didn’t we? That made up for it.”

“See, there you go. We don’t need a Finchy, Ian’s good enough. Did you listen at all?” Nick asks.

“Uh, no, I didn’t,” Matt says. That would have defeated the whole purpose of the day off, but Nick and the nation don’t need to know what that was. “Did something I should know about happen?”

“No,” Fiona says immediately. 

“Nothing of note happened, just a normal show,” Nick adds.

“Uh huh,” Matt says. “We’ll talk about this later. Play a record, go on.”

Nick is grinning like he has a secret. “Oh, it’s your _favourite,_ Finchy. Let’s have a little bit of Pink, shall we?” He hits play on “Just Give Me a Reason” and hums along to the beginning of it, clearly trying to tease Matt into a bit of banter. Matt is not in the mood, and he gestures for Nick to just fade down the mics already. Nick does, thankfully, though he looks a bit confused. 

“What crawled up your arse today?” Nick asks. 

“Nothing, thanks,” Matt says too sharply. 

“Settle down, boys,” Fiona says. “We’ve got a long day to get through.”

They stay quiet for a few moments before Matt has to ask, “Was it really just a normal show yesterday?” 

“Yeah, it was perfectly fine,” Fiona assures him. Nick doesn’t say anything, twirling his chair from side to side and staring at Matt between the computer monitors. Matt wishes he would stop. It’s making Matt feel like Nick is reading his mind and silently laughing at him. “We were just teasing you.” Fiona glances at Nick, seemingly indicating that he should contribute. 

“Yep, just teasing,” Nick confirms.

“All right,” Matt says. “That’s fine.”

“Is it fine?” Nick asks.

Matt glares at him. “It is fine, yeah.”

“Really fine?”

“Really.” 

“Please don’t,” Fiona says, sounding one second from putting her face in her hands and giving up. 

Matt immediately feels bad for her. “Sorry, Fiona.”

Nick makes a face at Fiona and she makes one back. Nick had, despite himself, missed Matt quite a bit over the weekend. He’d had to stop himself multiple times from texting him pointless things, and now that he’s back Nick has all this keyed up energy he wants to waste on pseudo-flirting with Matt, except Matt won’t cooperate. It’s very confusing and overall disappointing. 

Nick devotes his morning to trying to loosen Matt up, asking him if he wants to go out later, if Nick can have another piano lesson sometime, if he thinks Nick’s outfit is too much. He gets one word answers, mostly ‘no’. It’s hard to talk to someone who won’t even look at you, Nick reflects. He wonders what it is he did to make Matt standoffish, and he almost asks Matt what he can do to make up for it, but he reconsiders when he imagines what one word response Matt might come up with for that. ( _Nothing._ )

-

Most of April is spent arranging for Nick to finally get a dog. He’s always been insistent on getting a rescue dog even though it takes a lot more effort and trial runs than just going to a Cats and Dogs Home or a dog breeder, but he figures the payoff is also a lot better. So he didn’t succeed in finding a new hobby to give him depth--that’s okay. He succeeded in matching with a rescue dog, and spending time with a little Jack Russell terrier is enough to give him all the depth he needs. 

He names her Puppy Power Forever, Puppy for short, and he channels all his feelings about Matt, the good and the bad, into training her, taking pictures of her, taking her for walks, and telling everyone he sees all about her.

It works about seventy percent of the time, which is more than Nick could really have hoped for.

Just over a week into April, one of the now rarer days that LMC is in the studio also happens to be a day that falls into the thirty percent of the time that Puppy isn’t a distraction for Nick. 

Matt’s ignoring Nick particularly well that day, even avoiding eye contact with him at all times, which is a new level of accomplishment for him. It irritates the shit out of Nick, who just thinks that _maybe_ it would be nice if Matt just looked at him for a second whilst handing him some papers instead of in the other fucking direction. 

Nick compensates by making a nuisance of himself on air at every available opportunity. Normally he does so as a joke when he’s in a good mood, but the same tactics without the happiness and underlying understanding that he’s really going to listen to Matt are a deadly force for creating tension in the studio.

“Right, right, _my office, now,_ ” Nick mocks after Matt has sternly told him to stop wanging on and put on a record for about the fourth time that link. It’s a phrase they’ve said jokingly since the start, but this time it has sharp edges that Nick is throwing in Matt’s face. His voice might sound normal, but every inch of his face is telegraphing _fuck you._ At least Matt looks at him for the first time all morning. Nick feels completely vindicated and utterly like shit.

“I’m going to get some tea,” LMC announces loudly over the opening strains of the song Nick had hit play on, looking between Matt and Nick. “Nick, come with me.”

Nick wants to protest, but she glares at him in such a way that he knows it would be a bad idea. He gets up and follows her out of the studio instead, ignoring the worried looks Fiona and Ian are giving him. Matt has gone back to refusing to look at Nick. 

LMC leads Nick over to the little pseudo kitchen area and does, in fact, start to make herself a cup of tea. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks as she’s putting water into the kettle. She closes the lid and plugs it in before turning to look expectantly at Nick.

“Nothing,” Nick says.

“Bullshit,” LMC replies quietly. “This isn’t the regular constant bickering we’ve put up with for months, this is something else.”

Nick shrugs. “It’s not my fault.”

“No?”

“No!” 

“Then whose fault is it?” LMC’s hand on her hip is threatening in a way Nick feels like it shouldn’t be.

“It’s his,” Nick says. “He’s the one who started acting so strange. I may be great with people, but not even I can keep up a rapport with someone who knows exactly how to shut me down every time.”

LMC hums thoughtfully and purses her lips. Nick stares at her, waiting. “Listen,” she says after a moment, “I’m going to tell you something that I don’t want you to repeat to anyone.”

Nick’s curiousity is piqued. “Okay. I love a bit of gossip.”

“Do _not_ repeat this,” LMC stresses, “but Fiona and I are kinda…” She makes some vague gestures with her hands that Nick can’t comprehend, and eventually gives up with a sigh. “Together. We’re kinda together.”

Nick stares at her. That was honestly not even on the list of the top fifty things he’d been expecting her to say. “Together like…”

“Like we decided to test a thing out,” LMC says simply. The kettle starts to go off and she pulls the plug out of the socket. “Secretly, because we weren’t entirely sure, and we need some time to work things out.”

“That’s… good, I think,” Nick says. “It’s good, right?” 

“It’s good,” LMC agrees, pouring hot water into a mug. 

“Um,” Nick says, watching her start poking at the tea bag with her spoon. “Why did you tell me that?”

“First, because I trust you,” LMC says. “Second, because I want you to tell me how you think Fiona and I got to this point.”

Nick frowns. “Er, I don’t really… want to think about… that.”

LMC rolls her eyes. “Not like _that_ ,” she says. “Although the fact that you jumped there first doesn’t really bode well for the rest of this discussion.”

“Uh…” Nick says, still trying to process. “I can’t believe I haven’t noticed. How have I not noticed?”

“No one’s noticed because we’re not idiots like you and Matt,” LMC says. “We don’t send news bulletins about our feelings to the entire office, which is basically what you do.”

“I don’t--” Nick starts, but an eyebrow raise from LMC cuts him off.

“You do. We both know your feelings, so let’s skip the part where you try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about and move on to what you’re planning to do about it. Like, you know who we _do_ send news bulletins about our feelings to?” LMC asks. “We have a time limit on this conversation, so I’m just going to tell you instead of letting you figure it out yourself. Each other. We tell each other. So just. Think about that, will you?”

“Okay,” Nick agrees. “I’ll think about it.”

LMC tosses her tea bag into the bin and picks up her mug. “See that you do,” she says as she walks past Nick. 

He does follow through on the whole thinking about it thing, but in the end that’s all he promised to do. He certainly doesn’t think it would be a good idea to put himself out there to a person that is currently doing their best to pretend he doesn’t exist, even if LMC thinks he should. Nick just isn’t that kind of person. His ego is too sensitive for that, let alone his heart.

-

May flowers bloom into existence on a Wednesday when Fiona takes Matt by the arm and drags him out of the studio. He lets her, confused.

“Look,” Fiona says when they’ve reached the nook by the photocopiers where Matt’s cereal shelf is and Fiona has scared off a team assistant by raising her eyebrows at him. “This has gone on long enough.”

“What?” Matt asks, despite the fact that he’s pretty sure he knows what.

“I decided--well, LMC and I decided, it was a joint discussion thing--to give you until May, but here we are and you’re still acting weird. It’s not exactly subtle, yeah? Everyone has noticed. You’re throwing the whole dynamic off, and Nick isn’t really up to par. We have to keep up the same vibe, like we’ve talked about, and we can’t use the excuse that it’s a bit weird without LMC on all the time forever.”

Matt wants to become a part of the carpet. “I swear I’m really trying to act normal. I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Fiona sighs. “I know, I’m sorry. But whatever you’re doing about whatever it is, it’s not working, so it’s time to try something new.”

Matt nods. “I just don’t know what to do,” he mutters. 

“I can’t help you there,” Fiona says. “Come here.” She brings him in for a quick hug, clapping him on the shoulder when she pulls away. Matt rather wishes they could just hide here. He really is terrible at facing things; he’s been spending most of his time wandering around in a daze. “Get it together, Fincham.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting. Fiona laughs at him. 

-

A guest that’s supposed to be coming in to record Call or Delete is running a bit late, leaving Nick and Ian hanging around in the studio by themselves, waiting. 

“Is Aimee going to be at yours tonight?” Nick asks. 

Ian shrugs. “I don’t know, probably? Did you have plans?”

“No, no plans. Just wondering,” Nick says. “I feel like we’re a divorced couple sharing custody.”

“I don’t think Aimee would appreciate the comparison beyond laughing at you,” Ian says. He’s scrolling through something on his screen; if Nick squints he thinks he can see Facebook. “Hey, is Matt okay, d’you think? He’s been acting less blatantly weird, but still weird, you know?”

Nick frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “I wish I did know.” 

Ian looks up at Nick’s sad tone, eyebrows furrowed. “Hey--” he starts.

“But you know Finchy,” Nick cuts him off, laughing shortly. It sounds way too much like a desperate attempt to be lighthearted, even to Nick’s own ears. He can practically see Ian cringing back. 

Thankfully, Nick is saved from whatever reassuring thing he’s positive Ian was going to say by the guest finally arriving. It’s possible that Nick’s never been so excited to play Call or Delete.

-

Nick emails Matt in the middle of the show for no particular reason, something they tend to do back and forth frequently, even if they haven’t as much lately. Nick misses it, so he figures why not at least try.

Matt opens his email ten minutes after Nick sent the email and cautiously clicks it open. 

_We should get daft punk in. you like them, right? I’ve just seen you in the daft punk tag on tumblr so don’t try and say we don’t need to get daft punk in, because i know you think we need to get daft punk in._

Matt stares at it. His first instinct is to reply with _shut up_ , but then he’s unsure if he should be that snippy. Nick is just making an innocent, rather thoughtful observation. But then it would feel fake to be all formal and reply that he might try, but other DJs whose focus is electronic dance music would likely take precedence in getting a Daft Punk interview for Radio 1. 

Matt hasn’t obsessed over how to reply to an email like this in years. If he keeps it up he’s going to have a breakdown in the middle of the studio. Maybe the best option is to just pretend he didn’t see it.

Nick is sure Matt at least read the email, despite the fact that he hasn’t responded or even mentioned it. Nick’s trying his best to not be offended, but it’s starting to feel, after almost two months of Matt clearly trying to avoid him, like the last straw, the last nail in the coffin. 

He’s not sure what died, but that’s beside the point. 

-

“Good job today, Caleb,” Matt tells the twelve-year-old boy sitting on the piano bench as he finishes brokenly playing through his newly assigned song. “Keep practicing and I’ll see you next week.” He makes sure he’s written everything important down in Caleb’s homework notebook and closes it, handing it over.

“Thanks,” Caleb says, taking the notebook. “Um, Matt?”

“Yeah? What’s up?” 

“Why do you seem so sad lately? Er, sorry if I shouldn’t have asked, my mum said I should just leave you alone.”

“No, it’s okay,” Matt says, though he’s taken aback by the question. “You could tell that?”

Caleb shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I guess I’ve just been being dumb about a person I fancy,” Matt says carefully. 

Caleb looks surprised. “So no one died?”

Matt laughs. “No, did you think someone did?”

“You looked it,” Caleb says. “Does she not fancy you back? I fancied a girl who didn’t like me once, it was horrible. Not as horrible as someone dying, though.”

“I don’t know,” Matt says. 

“You should probably ask,” Caleb says. 

“You make that sound easy!” Matt says, laughing. 

Caleb looks at him incredulously. “It is, though. That’s how I know the girl I fancied didn’t fancy me. I hope you stop being sad soon. You’re usually funny, it makes playing the piano bearable.”

“We’ll get you to love it yet,” Matt says. He knows perfectly well that Caleb already loves it and just puts on the dramatic hating it to be contrary, but he understands that defensive front all too well. “I’ll see you back here next week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb grumbles. “Bye.”

Matt is still thinking about what Caleb said hours after he’d gone. It really puts the way he’s been acting in perspective when a twelve-year-old compares it to how people act when someone died. Even just feeling mildly sad when he’s reminded of Nick feels ridiculously self-indulgent now, and Matt’s well aware that it had been that self-indulgent the whole time.

He thinks it’s probably well past time to snap out of it.

-

Nick has been trying to convince Matt and Ian that they should come be a part of a feature on _Sweat the Small Stuff_ since they started filming the first series. Matt’s been reluctant, something he thinks everyone else is taking as an on air running joke, but when Nick finally asks him seriously, off air, if he’ll do it, he shrugs and says sure. It’ll make Nick happy, and Matt doesn’t think he’s been contributing enough to Nick’s happiness lately. 

Besides, this is the perfect opportunity for step one of not spending his entire life moping. 

The feature in question is called The Sweatbox, and the whole point is that Matt and Ian will go in and say that their sweat is that they hate their job because of Nick, and then whichever team gives them the best advice gets a point. Matt is already slightly regretting it before they even start shooting the episode, and by the time he’s actually _in_ the Sweatbox with Ian, he wishes he could just go home. There’s a reason he produces the Radio 1 Breakfast Show and doesn’t present it.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” he asks Ian between filming.

Ian shrugs. “The experience?”

“We’ll go with that,” Matt says, sighing.

He forces Ian to do most of the slagging Nick off because he’s a terrible liar on a good day, and Nick being a terrible person to work with is just _such_ a huge lie. Matt might be having issues with dealing with seeing Nick every day right now because of his feelings, but he still loves his job just as desperately as he had the first few weeks of the show. He’s always going to love working with Nick, and he has a hard time pretending that Nick is unbearable because it’s so laughably far from the truth. He can barely tell them all that “We have to get up very early for our job, but combined with this idiot it makes it even more miserable” without sounding like he’s so uncomfortable that he’s about to run away.

“Are you even trying, Finchy?” Nick calls over in between takes. “I’d think this would come easy for you.”

“Oh, sure,” Matt says back. He knows that Nick is making a joke, but it still stings knowing that Nick could legitimately think that Matt honestly feels miserable working with Nick based on Matt’s behaviour lately. “Ian’s actually reading off a list of things I hate about you that I wrote.”

Some of the panelists oooh at that, but Nick just shakes his head and doesn’t say anything else. Matt appreciates that much at least.

-

“I think you’re going to have to start from the beginning, because I’m completely lost. Except for the part about Finchy’s hands, please skip that bit this time,” Harry says. 

“That’s where it all started, though,” Nick complains. “I thought too hard about his hands and he clearly _realised_ and now wants nothing to do with me.”

Harry blinks at him from his position sprawled over Nick’s sofa, Puppy curled up on his legs. “That… is insane. Why do you think he wants nothing to do with you?”

Nick fidgets with his packet of crisps and tears the foil right in the corner. Great. “He’s really just… weird. And distant. He doesn’t want to hang out outside of work at _all_ anymore, and it’s not been as bad lately, but that’s almost worse? Because sometimes I feel like we’re back to normal and then the next minute he’s not responding to my emails. I just--either I want my friend back or I want him to give it to me straight. No more of this bullshit. I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

Harry hums understandingly. “And this all started after that piano lesson?”

“Yeah, I think so. He was mostly just frustrated by my weird hobbies before that.”

“The knitting was pretty fucking strange,” Harry says. 

“I know,” Nick whines. “No one will shut up about it, it was such a mistake.”

“I like Puppy better than the socks,” Harry says, patting her on the head. “Anyway, uh, I think Finchy is too much of a no-nonsense kind of guy to suddenly decide he hates you for some arbitrary reason. It would have to be arbitrary, I mean, because like, you didn’t do anything as far as I can tell to upset him? Other than stuff you do normally.”

“Hey.”

“Shhh. So he doesn’t hate you for no reason, because if he did I think he’d say so that you could fix it? Because you have to work together, there’s no way to, like, escape that. It would be like me being angry with Niall. We’d have to talk it out.”

Nick wrinkles his nose. “When would you ever be angry with Niall?”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry says. “That’s not the point, though.”

“What _is_ the point, young Harold?” Nick asks, shoving too many crisps in his mouth to punctuate the question.

“The _point_ is that he must have some other motivation for avoiding you.”

Nick waits, chewing on his crisps, for Harry to continue on, but Harry doesn’t say anything more, instead just looking at Nick expectantly. “All right, let’s have it then,” Nick says finally. “What other motivation?”

Harry lets out a longsuffering sigh. “Maybe he likes you, too, and he just needs some space to process or whatever.”

Nick shakes his head. “He doesn’t like me,” he says resolutely. “He’s straight.”

“How do you know that?” Harry asks. “Maybe he’s straight except for you. Maybe he’s some other sexuality.”

“ _Maybe_ , but that’s way too hopeful thinking. That’s my wildest dreams from back in uni.”

Harry sighs again. “You’re ridiculous. Take a moment to consider the possibility that your wildest dreams have come true--they have a tendency to do that, remember?”

“Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place,” Nick says, grumpily eating another crisp. “But if it _had_ , wouldn’t he have had enough time by now? Assuming you’re right about all of it.”

Harry shrugs. “People are all different, man.”

“‘People are all different, man’,” Nick mocks in a high-pitched tone. “This is the wisdom you’ve come back from your stupid pop star touring life to impart to me before you run off again?” He grabs a throw pillow from where it had fallen on the floor and throws it at Harry for good measure. He gets Harry good in the face, but at the expense of grazing Puppy slightly. She looks annoyed and hops down to the floor. 

“You missed me, don’t front,” Harry says, throwing the pillow back. 

“Sure I did,” Nick agrees. “Are you going to come out with me tonight? Bet there’s bunches of people who’d be excited to see you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Actually made plans with Finchy tonight, but after that? I can meet you guys.”

Nick nearly chokes on a crisp. “You did what?”

“I’m going for drinks with Finchy,” Harry says again. “He asked, I said sure.”

“I’m not invited? That hurts,” Nick says, half meaning it.

“Think he wants someone to hang out with him silently,” Harry says, “and I hate to break it to you, but you’re the opposite of silent.”

Nick pouts. “You at least have to do recon for me, then. Figure out what’s going on, let me know what to do about it? Why are you shaking your head at me?”

“I’m not going to spy for you,” Harry says. 

“What even is the point of you?” Nick grumbles. 

“To listen to you complain,” Harry says. “I’m pretty good for that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nick says.

-

Harry and Matt spend a good few hours sitting mostly in silence, drinking pints and watching the sports channel on the bar’s telly. It’s everything Matt had expected from a last minute get together with Harry, and he’s glad he thought to text Harry to see if he was free. 

The most significant conversation they have comes half an hour in, when Harry says, “So.”

“So,” Matt parrots, “have you seen Nick? How is he?”

“Didn’t you just see him this morning?” Harry asks, sipping his beer.

Matt shrugs. “Yeah, but that was at work.” He’s sure he isn’t incorrect in assuming that Nick is professional enough that if he were really upset or angry, he wouldn’t let that show obviously in the same way he would to one of his close friends. He’s been acting more sad than usual and a bit strange toward Matt, but all of that is Matt’s fault and shouldn’t be blamed on anyone else.

Harry seems to understand what Matt is getting at. “He’s fine,” he says. Matt nods, and they sit in silence for a few minutes before Harry adds, mumbling, “You’re both idiots.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. Harry’s not really the one he should be apologising to, but he’s a good practice subject. “I just didn’t know what to do.”

Harry eyes him. “You’re making this complicated. Nick’s does the same thing, it’s really… uncanny.”

Matt’s heart flutters the slightest bit at the shred of confirmation that Nick feels the same. He stares down at the table and sips his beer carefully, trying not to smile too broadly. 

“Jesus,” Harry mutters, and Matt glances up in time to see him shaking his head. 

They don’t say anything much of note after that, mostly going back to the introductory small talk and chat about their mutual friends, but by the time they part ways, Matt heading home and Harry heading to meet up with Nick and the hipster crowd, Matt feels like he got exactly what he needed out of the night.

For the first time in too long, Matt has some proof that he has a semblance of a grasp on his life rather than a perpetual feeling of his skin trying to slide off and go on without him. It’s starting to look less like a thousand-piece puzzle and more like all he has to do is slide the matching picture block into the space carved out for it, easy as pie.

-

“Hey, Matt Fincham.”

“Hello, Nick Grimshaw,” Matt responds, ready for Nick to say something on air that may potentially need damage control. He has that sly look on his face.

“It’s your birthday soon.” 

Matt is caught off guard. “Er, yeah, I guess so. In a couple of weeks.”

“I have,” Nick says slowly, “the most _brilliant_ plan for how we can celebrate it.” 

Matt raises his eyebrows and glances over at Fiona. He’s hoping she knows what Nick’s talking about, but she merely shrugs at him. “And what might that be?" Matt asks.

“Karaoke! We get the crew together, all your favourite people, and sing some stellar tunes. Friday, maybe? I don’t know, I’ve just thought of it,” Nick says, definitely lying. He’s been thinking this over since last night, though not too hard, lest he actually talk himself out of it. He really has nothing to lose—if Matt says no, then he’s still avoiding him, and there’s really nothing else Nick can do.

“Will there be cake?” Matt asks, mostly to tease Nick.

“Sure,” Nick says. “What’s your favourite kind? We’ll get your favourite kind, don’t you worry, Finchy.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “I’m there.”

“You are?” Nick asks, trying not to sound as shocked as he feels. He looks at Fiona and Ian to make sure they’re hearing the same thing he is. They don’t look incredulous, so maybe not, though Ian is concentrating on something on his computer and Fiona just looks amused. She does smile back when Nick grins helplessly at her, so that’s a good sign.

“Of course I am,” Matt says. “Maybe save the party planning for off air though, we’re late for the news. Again.”

“Right, right,” Nick says, launching into the segue into Newsbeat. He takes off his headphones and hurries to stop Matt before he leaves the studio to get the cereal he’d been eating. Matt ignores his attempts and pokes at his cereal bowl. 

“Shouldn’t have left it,” he mutters to himself, standing in the entrance to the studio with Nick propping the door open. “Did you really need to ask me about a birthday party thing on air?”

“Yes,” Nick says. “I really meant it though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt says. “I’m really up for it. It’ll be fun.”

Nick tries not to explode or slam a door with emotion or something. “Cool,” he says. “Cool. What’s your favourite kind of cake?”

Matt smiles at him and then busies himself eating his soggy cereal. Nick wrinkles his nose at Matt and walks away, letting the door swing shut so that Matt has to try to catch it without dropping his bowl. He fails, but he does get it back open in time to hear Nick asking Ian and Fiona if they know what Matt’s favourite cake is. They don’t know, so Nick is sure to be distracted by trying to figure it out for the rest of the show. Matt is unsure, as ever with Nick, if that was a good idea or a bad one.

As it happens, it only takes about ten minutes for Nick to have already complained to the nation about Matt refusing to tell him, and twenty minutes for him to crow into his mic, “Guess what I just found out!”

“What?” Ian asks.

“Well, I’ve had a little text with Matty’s mum, the lovely Wendy Fincham--”

Matt groans. “Really?”

“Yes, hi, Wendy,” Nick says. “She’s just informed me that Finchy’s favourite kind of cake is, in fact, lemon. So congrats, we’re putting in an order for a very large amount of lemon cake _right now_. You’re welcome.”

“I can’t believe you texted my mum,” Matt says, even though he absolutely can.

“Don’t be silly,” Nick says. “She texted me. It’s your fault for not just telling me.”

Matt sighs. “Play some music, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Nick says, grinning as he hits play. “We’ll sing a bit of this at karaoke, hm?” he adds over the opening strains of “Get Lucky”. 

“Yessss, such a tune,” Matt agrees immediately. 

Nick fades the mic down but continues to hum along to the song, throwing in “We’re up all night to get Finchy,” at the chorus before looking away from his computer to see Matt’s reaction. He’s grinning at his own computer, which is such a change from the surly, avoidant Matt of the past couple months that Nick briefly considers the possibility that the real Matt has been abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person. 

He abandons that thought, though. He’d much prefer to think that Matt is really back to acting normal, whatever the reason for it.

-

With Matt’s definite go ahead, Nick throws himself into planning the party. He’s aware that he’s going slightly overboard with hiring a party planner to customise everything so that it’s Bond themed and insisting on arranging for a keyboard at the karaoke place, and making proper invitations to hand out (though even he can admit that the invitations are horrible, seeing as he made them on Microsoft Word with clipart during the show, but they’re an ironic kind of horrible, Nick thinks), but ultimately Nick feels that Matt deserves it. And also Nick doesn’t want him to have accepted an invitation to do something outside of work obligations for the first time in ages only for that thing to be horrible. And also birthdays are important and should be treated as such. 

Aimee has to hear all his arguments multiple times in the few days leading up to the party. She didn’t even really care the first time.

The first thing Matt notices when he arrives at the party is the tiny fondant bowties on the cake. The second thing he notices is Nick, if by ‘notices’ he means ‘is nearly barreled over by’.

“You’re here, good! Let me buy you a drink, we’ve got a lot planned for tonight, we’re gonna have a great time,” Nick says all in one breath, hanging off Matt.

Matt stares at him, craning his head to the side to get Nick in his line of sight. “I thought we were just, like, getting drunk and singing karaoke?” 

“And eating cake!” Nick says, letting Matt go but not stepping away. “Don’t forget the cake.”

“I dare not,” Matt says. “Are you drunk already?”

“Nooo,” Nick says. “Might’ve had a few, though,” he adds, leaving out the part where he did it mostly because of his nerves. 

“Oooookay,” Matt says. “I guess we’d better catch me up.”

“That’s the spirit!” Nick basically yells, slapping Matt too hard in the shoulder and going off to get Matt a drink. 

Matt takes the moment to himself to reflect on how long of a night it’s going to be. It’ll probably be worth it, though. He can convince himself of that at this point. 

More people than Matt expected show up, many of them arriving at sporadic times and leaving just as randomly. The room never appears to be less full of people, though, and Matt decides early on that he actually doesn’t want to know how many people Nick invited. 

Nick himself is never far from Matt, even when Matt is talking to friends that Nick has only ever briefly met rather than people Nick is friends with as well. He’s always finding excuses to touch Matt, and despite how strange it is, Matt can’t bring himself to hate it. He could maybe do without the constant checking that Matt is still having a good time and reminding everyone else that they should be making accommodations for ‘the birthday boy’, but even that would be all right. 

Really Nick isn’t doing anything wrong, it’s more the fact that he’s doing everything right all at the same time, and it’s a lot for Matt to take in. 

He nearly makes Matt cry when he drags him over to the keyboard and forces everyone to sing along to Nick slowly plinking out the melody line of Happy Birthday and looking extremely proud of himself, though Matt isn’t even sure what emotion he was feeling at the time. Too many emotions, no doubt, along with a strong desire for cake. 

Matt probably eats too much cake in the end, and he definitely drinks too much, and he’s sequestered himself sitting in a corner near the front of the room trying not to actually throw up when he notices that Nick isn’t within a metre of him. This seems a bit strange, but mostly Matt is only worried because Nick likely would have brought him water if he’d asked. 

He should have been more worried about the fact that Nick was gone _and_ no one was singing, a fact made abundantly clear when Nick picks up a mic with a screech of feedback and says, “I’m gonna sing a song for Finchy and you’re all gonna fucking love it. Where’s Finchy? Oh, there you are.” He makes his unsteady way over to Matt. 

Matt has a bad feeling about this, and he’s pretty sure it’s separate from the ill feeling he’d already had. 

“This is because of that time I was a brat and you had to deal with it,” Nick says. “I know, confusing, because that’s all the time, which, thank you, but this was early on and I feel like--like it really is us. And my feelings. This is ‘Halo’.”

Matt can remember exactly the incident Nick is referring to--the time he’d refused to stay for a meeting and Matt had followed him out to his car, only for Beyoncé to blast out of the speakers at full volume as soon as Nick started the car. He isn’t really sure he wants Nick to be bringing this up right now. There are a lot of people in this room, and most of them are currently laughing at Nick butchering Beyoncé and likely not thinking much of Nick’s declaration preceding it, but this is really not the time or place for Nick to be doing this. 

“Matt’s everything I need and more, it’s written all over your face. Finchy, I can see your haloooooo,” Nick croons, and Matt fights the urge to get up and run away. That would probably be a bit much. This is a lot, though, maybe running wouldn’t be that bad of a reaction.

Nick is moving even closer as he sings, and Matt gets more concerned about Nick’s intentions with every step. He looks like he’s going in for a sensuous lap dance whilst singing about falling that doesn’t feel like falling, or for a kiss, or just to sing emotionally really close to Matt’s face, and Matt already has enough emotion in his personal bubble for the both of them. He’s too nauseous for added butterflies, and there’s a giant red sign in his head that looks a like a lit up ON AIR sign, meaning stop, do not open this door, go straight to jail, do not pass go and collect two hundred pounds.

“Nick,” Matt says, too quiet to really be heard, and then louder, “Nick, stop. Don’t do this right now.” _Not here_ , Matt thinks. “You can’t just…”

He trails off, watching the sappy smile that had been on Nick’s face melt away. All Nick really hears Matt say is _no_. He frowns, off-tune singing more of a mumble now, and he turns away from Matt. Nick barely finishes the verse he was on before shoving the mic at Pixie, who takes it, slightly bewildered but rolling with it and launching dramatically into the chorus. 

He went too far, Nick thinks nonsensically. He tried too hard and failed, so what was the point in even trying in the first place? “It’s easier to just fuck models and be done with it,” he mutters. He intends it to come out a lot quieter than it actually does. Aimee is twice the distance in the opposite direction that Matt is from Nick, and Nick clearly sees her turn to stare at him.

“I think I’m just going to go home,” Matt says, somehow standing without Nick noticing how it happened. “I’m really tired. Thanks for the party, Nick.”

He’s clear across the room and pushing the door open before Nick can even open his mouth to reply. 

 

_part four_

 

Nick wakes up with a killer headache and the distinct feeling that there’s no way he wants to ever get out of bed again. He chances a glance out from under his blanket and is met by Henry’s face staring down at him, his eyebrows raised practically to the roof. Nick nearly has a heart attack.

“Good morning,” Henry says dryly. “I hear you’ve been a naughty boy.”

Nick groans. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“The depths of hell,” Henry replies. Nick chooses to interpret that as ‘Aimee called me’. “What have we always said about singing ballads to the objects of our affection?”

“I don’t think we ever discussed it, actually,” Nick says. 

“No, because I wouldn’t have thought we _needed_ to discuss it. That’s insane, Nicholas. It’s just insane. Common sense says so.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be showing me a little sympathy here?” Nick asks, pouting.

Henry scoffs. “No. But I did bring you McDonald’s, so you’re welcome. Budge up.” 

Nick obliges and Henry gets into the bed next to him. He forces Nick to take paracetamol before he’ll give him any food, and he insists on putting TLC on so he can watch a _Say Yes to the Dress_ marathon, though he does turn the volume down so that Nick doesn’t feel like smashing the telly. 

They’re an episode and a half in by the time Nick feels slightly more like a human being and has regained enough mental faculties to fully comprehend just how fucked he is. “Oh God, Henry. Henry, I said it’s easier just to fuck models and be done with it. I _said_ that. He heard me say that.”

“Yes,” Henry says, “that’ll be the fifth time you’ve informed me of that fact. Breaking news, you’re still an idiot.”

“Oh God,” Nick mumbles. He’d certainly meant it--fucking models _is_ easier, because they might hope for you to call them later, but they don’t really _expect_ it, and the effort involved is practically negative. Nick just has to flutter his eyelashes a little and he’s usually in. This ‘love’ thing is too complicated, Nick has said this since he was old enough to really understand the concept. The problem is that he wants it anyway; that frustrating, all-consuming love that he’s so quick to slag off is exactly what he dreams of having one day. One day soon. Preferably right now, because honestly, everything would be better if his efforts were just rewarded for once.

Nick buries his face in Henry’s shoulder. “What do I do now?” he whines at him.

Henry sighs and starts stroking Nick’s quiff consolingly. “You got yourself into this mess,” he says, and Nick is about to complain again when he continues with, “All that coming on too strong business wasn’t a good idea. I’m thinking it’s probably time to back off a bit now. You can just follow Matt’s lead, yeah?”

“I tried that though,” Nick complains. “His lead was to _ignore_ me for months.”

“If he goes that route again we’ll just get Ian to lock you both in a cupboard until you sort yourselves out, all right? Now stop acting like a child and gossip with me about how fucking ugly this dress is.”

Nick laughs despite himself. “It is a rather god awful dress,” he says, peering at the screen. “You’ve designed better in your sleep.”

“Damn right I have,” Henry says. 

-

Nick gets to work early on Monday morning, arriving at the same time as Fiona. They take the lift up together, and Fiona eyes Nick worriedly the whole way while Nick avoids looking at her. “How’s it this morning?” she asks when the lift stops on the fifth floor to let someone out.

“It’s good,” Nick says as the doors slide shut again. 

“Is it gonna be good?” Fiona asks.

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. It depends, I guess, how he…” He gestures helplessly.

Fiona nods. “Okay,” she says. She looks like she’s steeling herself to deal with bullshit, which is to say she looks about the same as she does every morning. Nick likes that about her.

Nick leaves Fiona alone to do actual work and doesn’t even make an attempt to do the same, instead scrolling through random searches on tumblr and skimming articles on _The Mail Online_ nervously. He’s trying not to think too hard about what he’s going to do when Matt arrives, because Henry was right. He needs to follow Matt’s lead on this, so he can’t plan for it.

He’s repeating _follow his lead_ over and over in his head when Matt actually does arrive, and it succeeds in that he immediately stops moving any muscle at all and tries not to stare at Matt while mostly staring at Matt. For his part, Matt seems to be unaffected, greeting Nick and Fiona with a cheerful hello and asking Fiona about something he’d asked her to do that Nick didn’t pay attention to. 

Matt continues to act completely normal, so much that Nick starts to get paranoid. Did it ever really happen? He texts Fiona in the middle of a record to ask, but she doesn’t respond because she’s obviously not looking at her mobile when Nick can see her sitting right there, _not_ looking at it. Nick feels like he’s losing his mind. 

Nick avoids bringing up the party on air, figuring no one really wants to talk about it, but Matt brings it up himself, mentioning that the cake had been good, and then Nick can’t help but start cracking jokes and engaging in over-the-top flirting. Matt laughs and flirts back like it’s no big deal, and Nick feels like he’s been transported back in time two months. 

“Do you think he’s hit his head?” Nick mutters to Ian. “Should we get him to a doctor?” 

Ian looks over to where Matt is talking to their team assistant and then back to Nick. “It’s possible,” he says. “Fiona’s trained in first aid, maybe she’ll look at him.”

Fiona refuses to have any part in it, though Nick does get her to admit that it’s throwing her off a bit as well. She still won’t let him thoroughly inspect Matt, which disappoints Nick even though he knows it would be a bad idea to _try_ to provoke a reaction. That didn’t go so well the last time, as both Ian’s and Fiona’s expressions remind him. 

Matt isn’t unaware that the other members of his team keep conspiring with each other in corners and that it probably has to do with how normal he’s acting--or not normal, depending on how you look at it, he supposes--but he’s actively decided that he doesn’t care. Things don’t happen to him anymore, they just happen around him. He is zen. 

Not making a big fuss seems like the best option anyway, in all aspects of the situation--the show doesn’t suffer, Nick doesn’t suffer, Matt doesn’t suffer. Matt should probably be hurt or something, but he’s had a whole weekend for that. It’s not like Nick was wrong, anyway. It would definitely be easier for him to fuck models than it would be to actually have a relationship with his producer. There’s this annoying thing called real emotions, and Matt knows how Nick struggles with not just walking away when he has those.

Matt usually reacts to his emotions by trying to resist them, but this time around it isn’t exactly working as well as he would have hoped. Matt figures that if he just accepts it and continues on, it’ll straighten itself out and go away eventually. 

“Hey, Matty,” Nick says, “are you excited for Glastonbury?”

“Oooh, yes,” Matt says. 

“Who are you most excited to see?” Nick asks.

“Oh, um,” Matt says. “All the artists performing on the BBC Introducing stage, of course.”

Nick hits the buzzer sound effect. “Stop selling the brand, Finchy. What’s the real answer?” 

Matt rolls his eyes. “Okay, uh, I’m most excited for… Chase & Status?” 

“You sure about that?” 

“Yes. Chase & Status is my final answer.”

“Okay,” Nick says, playing the ding sound effect. “Who do you think I’m most excited for?” 

“Er, Haim?” 

Nick plays the buzzer. Matt makes a face at him. 

“Jake Bugg?” Buzzer. “Mumford & Sons?” Buzzer. “Uhhh, Rita Ora!” Buzzer. “... The Rolling Stones?” Buzzer. “Rizzle Kicks?” Buzzer. “Um. Laura Mvula.”

Nick stares silently across the desk for a moment, then presses the buzzer. “Come on, Fincham.” 

“Well, I don’t know! Vampire Weekend? Dizzee Rascal? Example? Stop with the buzzer and play a bloomin’ record instead.”

“No! You have to guess!” 

“Don’t make me come round there,” Matt warns. 

Nick plays the buzzer. 

“Right then.” Matt goes around the desk and tries to get around Nick to the controls so he can put on a record. Nick grabs at Matt’s arms, trying not to let himself be dragged away. It dissolves into just wrestling in general, and Fiona makes a loud disapproving noise. 

“Stop it, boys, honestly,” she says, gesturing for Ian to break it up. He does, getting himself in the middle of Matt and Nick while Fiona gets round them to actually play the record.

Nick might think that Matt’s behaviour is weird, but at least everything is back to normal one way or another. Nick’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. No, if he has to be anywhere, he’s perfectly content to be right here, with Ian’s hand on his chest pushing him away from Matt and Matt glaring daggers at him. 

-

Nick rearranges Matt's entire desk the day before they head off to Glastonbury so that Matt doesn't have time to fix it and has to struggle to find every little thing he needs. Nick tells him it's revenge for the wrestling, but he'd really just needed to do _something_ to try to provoke him. Matt mostly scowls and grumps around the office, which seems rather par for the course. Nick doesn't know what he wanted to happen, other than his constant desire for Matt to declare his undying love for him. 

Glastonbury itself is fun--they broadcast in the afternoon and it’s utterly ridiculous, but they’ve done worse things on air. Matt ends up catching a ride back with Ian and Huw, and he sits in the back seat staring out the window and being tired and emotional. 

The emotional part is probably eighty percent of the reason Matt sits straight up when he sees a sign on the side of the road advertising a special adoption drive at a Cats and Dogs Home and says, “Pull over.” (The other twenty percent is the alcohol and the exhaustion.)

“What?” Ian asks, alarmed. 

“Why?” Huw asks.

“The Cats and Dogs Home,” Matt says. “Just do it. Please.”

Huw and Ian exchange a look, but Huw does turn off the road and park in front of the Cats and Dogs Home, so Matt doesn’t really care what they think. He fumbles to undo his seatbelt and nearly falls out of the car, but he is not deterred. He is on a mission, and he walks into the building in a manner befitting his cause, Huw and Ian trailing behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Ian asks. 

“Looks like he’s looking to buy a cat or a dog,” Huw says, matter-of-fact.

“Sure, but why the fuck is he doing that?” Ian says. “Matt?”

Matt, in his ‘on a mission’ stance, hadn’t bothered to pay attention to what he was doing and had so walked in the exact opposite direction he’d needed to. He loops around at the back of the shop and finally locates the section that appears to house cats. 

“Why are you staring at that cat like you’ve lost your mind?” Ian asks.

Matt thinks it’s probably because he’s actually lost his mind, but he’s here now. He can’t turn back. “I want to get a cat,” he says. “Do you see someone who works here anywhere?”

There isn’t anyone in the immediate vicinity, so Ian and Huw go off to find someone. Matt can clearly hear Huw asking if they should really be letting Matt do this, which he chooses to ignore in favour of leaning down so he can squint at a pile of kittens. It’s not like this is _really_ a spur of a moment decision. Matt’s totally considered getting a cat before. Like, once. Whatever. 

Huw and Ian come back with a nice young lady who tells Matt all about the temperaments of the cats and answers all of Matt’s Intelligent Questions that he just made up easily. In what seems like no time at all, Matt is the proud owner of a small, white cat that the lady assured him is very nice and well-suited to flat life. He also has approximately a thousand other things that come with being a cat owner, including what is probably too many toys. He feels very much in control of his life as he punches in his PIN. It is okay that he’s in love with Nick, because he now owns a cat. He is a zen master at this point.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ian asks. They’re already back in the car, but Huw looks rather hesitant to pull away from the Cats and Dogs Home, like he thinks maybe Matt will suddenly change his mind and demand they return everything immediately. Matt would never. He’s pretty sure he’s in love with the cat now. Move over, Nicholas Grimshaw.

“I’m fine,” Matt says, poking his fingers in the holes at the front of the cat carrier. The cat retreats into the back of the carrier, but that’s okay. She’ll grow to love him back, Matt is sure about this. 

“Are you really sure?” Ian asks again. Huw seems to have given up and started driving again. “Because I just texted Nick that I think you’re having a breakdown.”

“Buying a cat is a breakdown now?” 

Ian turns around to look at Matt. “Yes,” he says seriously. 

“Then I guess I just had one,” Matt says, shrugging.

“What are you going to name it?” Huw asks.

“The breakdown?” Matt asks.

“No, the _cat_.”

“Oh.” Matt looks over at the cat, who has now curled up in the cat carrier and is staring at him. “I don’t know.” 

“Probably something from James Bond, yeah?” Ian says. “Oooh. Pussy Galore?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Matt says, by which he means ‘definitely not’, because that just reminds him of Nick saying he’d be Matt’s Pussy Galore and negates the whole feeling like he’s in control thing. 

“Clannad, then?” Ian says.

“I’m not naming the cat _Clannad_ ,” Matt says indignantly. On second thought, Clannad _are_ very zen. “…Though, maybe Enya? Moya?”

Matt can see Ian shaking his head. “It’s your cat, you pick its name.”

“ _Her_ name, thanks much,” Matt says. He leans over so he can get his face on the same level as the cat. “What do you think? Moya? Enya?” She blinks when he says Moya, so Matt takes that as acceptance. “Cool. Hi, Moya.” 

“Are you talking to the cat now?” Ian asks. “I just need to know so I can text Nick an accurate update.”

“Shut up,” Matt says.

“That’s a yes, then,” Huw says.

-

“Ian. Lovely Ian,” Nick says.

“Hello,” Ian says cheerfully.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get here, Ian, because I know you have a very interesting story to tell us all about producer Matt Fincham.”

Matt sighs loudly, right into the mic so that everyone will know his pain.

“I do, yeah,” Ian says. “So we’re heading back from Glasto, me, Huw, and Matt, and all of a sudden Matt forces us to pull over because he needs to buy himself a cat.”

“A cat,” Nick repeats. 

“An honest to goodness cat,” Ian confirms. 

“I can get a cat if I want to,” Matt says. “Her name is Moya, just to let you all know.”

“ _Moya_ ,” Nick says dramatically. “All right then, Finchy. I didn’t know you were a cat person. I thought you liked dogs.”

“I do like dogs,” Matt interjects. 

Nick ignores him. “Matt Fincham…” He hits play on the dramatic sad music. Matt shakes his head at him. “I”m sorry… but this is going to have to be the end of our relationship. I just can’t marry someone who has a cat.” He sighs loudly. 

Matt laughs. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear it.” 

Nick stops the music. “Wait, so you’re going to choose the cat over me?”

“Definitely,” Matt says. 

“You’ve known her for like a day!” Nick squawks. “Harsh!”

Matt shrugs. “Moya stays, so either we’re not getting married or you’re going to have to suck it up.”

“Ah, well. Not getting married then, are we,” Nick says, launching into an advert and a record. “Honestly, I _can’t believe_ you went to your first Glasto and on the way back decided to get a cat. Is that what you’re going to do after every festival now?” 

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I’m collecting. I’m aiming to be a crazy old cat man.”

Nick snorts. “Fifi, are you listening to this shit?”

“No, to be honest, I’m not,” Fiona says without looking up from her computer.

“Me neither,” Ian says. “Once you two get into that whole bickering thing there’s really no point anymore.”

Nick pouts and announces that he’s going to have a wee. No one pays him any mind as he bangs his way out of the studio, but Matt does grin to himself. Everything is back to normal, and he kinda likes it. (He likes it a lot.)

-

Matt would like to say that July passes without event because that’s how he feels about it, but when he says that nothing much has been going on with him to James one evening at the pub, James looks at him like he’s got two heads.

“Haven’t you been doing all sorts on the radio?” he asks, and oh. Yeah. 

“I guess that’s true,” Matt says. “July isn’t exactly a quiet time at Radio 1.” 

“I liked the thing with the watermelon,” James says. 

Matt laughs. “Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re all a bit dumb, trying to eat two watermelons because Andy Murray eats a whole one before he has a match? I don’t think he meant watermelon, but it was hilarious, so.”

“That was kind of the point,” Matt says. He can’t really remember much about that day except catching Nick watching him from across the desk and feeling distinctly strange about it when Nick looked away hurriedly. Also how he doesn’t even want to look at watermelon anymore. “We just wanted to, y’know, have a better chance at tennis. What about actual Wimbledon? How was that?” 

James shrugs. “Only caught a bit of it. Liked the bird.”

“Oh yeah,” Matt says, grinning despite himself. “Nick didn’t so much.”

James looks at him and shakes his head. “You’re so gone.”

Matt shrugs. “Moya is the only love I have room for in my heart.”

“Uh huh,” James says. 

As normal as it’s been with Nick, at least at work, there’s still a certain awkward vibe underlying everything they do. Sometimes it’s barely noticeable, but other times not so much. One day, a guest mentioned how the one thing they hated more than anything else was being ignored (“like, if you don’t wanna talk to me, just tell me, right? God.”) and Nick had vehemently agreed while pointedly avoiding looking at Matt. That had been a truly awkward last two hours of the show. 

So there are bad days, but then there are good ones, like the day Nick was joking around with Sara about a news story and said, “I’d like to thank the BBC for my free gift of Matt Fincham.” It hadn’t been a big deal, no one had even mentioned it, but it had stuck in Matt’s head all day, turning over and over and making Matt smirk to himself at inopportune moments.

“What’s next for the show, then?” James asks. 

“Uh, that football game against Olly Murs, and then we’re jetting off to Ibiza before hols,” Matt says. “The footie should be a laugh, Nick running around a pitch trying to be sporty.” 

James laughs. “Oh, yeah. Butch enough for you?” 

“Might’ve gone too far,” Matt says. “Can’t turn back now, though.”

-

They probably should have turned back. 

Doing the show from Tottenham goes well enough. The actual football match after, not so much, seeing as the Radio Onederers lose 11 - 1, but Nick isn’t going to bother being hugely upset about it. 

It’s a wonder he doesn’t realise earlier, but to be fair everyone keeps telling him he’ll be all right. He manages to make an appearance on Scott’s show before going off to the hairdresser’s, and it’s not until he’s on the tube that he really truly notices how much his foot hurts. It feels like he stood on lego for an extended amount of time.

By the time he gets to Nandos and takes off his shoe, his entire foot is swollen and feels like it’s splatted all over the place, so. He figures he should probably go to the hospital. 

He goes to A&E and waits a bit before they check him out. It turns out he tore all the ligaments in the bottom of his foot, which seems completely ridiculous, and apparently requires him to be given a proper giant boot thing and also copious painkillers. 

“Got injury doing sport,” he slurs at Aimee when she comes to get him, before bursting into giggles. “Sport!”

“Yes, quite unlike you, honey,” Aimee says. “Ready to go?”

“Yep!” Nick declares.

“Christ, you’re not going to do the radio tomorrow like this, are you?” Aimee asks on the way out of the hospital, after Nick has already been babbling incoherently at her for awhile. 

Nick frowns. “They told me I can’t. But I wanna.”

“Oh, babe, the nation doesn’t need to hear this, trust me,” Aimee says. Nick pouts. He keeps pouting all evening, too, and after Aimee has gone he keeps trying to text people sadly even though he makes about a million typos. 

He wakes up feeling completely horrible, so the whole decision to not let him present a breakfast show was definitely on the mark, but he’s still grumpy about it. He’s grumpy about this whole thing. It had seemed really amusing, getting injured from playing football, but now it’s just stupid. Football is stupid. He’s always thought so. Stupid football. 

Nick hobbles his way from his bed to the kitchen, which hardly seems worth it even once he’s brewed himself a cup of tea, and he collapses on the sofa after because it’s closer. It’s also conveniently closer to the door, so when someone knocks on it, Nick actually can bring himself to go answer it. He would not have left bed to do that, that much he knows for sure.

“Finchy?” He thinks the drugs have kicked in and he might be hallucinating, but if so the hallucination is a really good one, capable of grabbing onto Nick’s arms and leading him back to the sofa and everything. “Are you real?” 

“I’m real, yeah,” Matt says. “You just… lie there. Don’t move.”

“Innit too early?” Nick asks, blinking up at Matt. He’s pretty sure it’s, like, before noon. Matt is supposed to be at work until at least two. 

“Skipped out early maybe,” Matt says. “Slow day.”

“Slow,” Nick repeats, drawing out the vowel, and then adds, point blank, “Worried.”

“Do shut up,” Matt says. “How’s your foot?”

Nick shrugs. “Can’t feel it now.”

Matt snorts. “Can’t feel anything, I’d bet.” He looks around, spots Nick’s half drunk cup of tea, and frowns. “Have you eaten today?”

“Nahhhhhh,” Nick says. “Too hard.”

“Uh huh,” Matt says. The longer he stands here looking at Nick the more glad he is that he’d been worried enough to come over as soon as possible. He still feels guilty for thinking that Nick was just exaggerating about his foot hurting. “Well, I brought you some stuff.”

“Pressies!” Nick tries to sit up too fast, resulting in him falling over and forcing Matt to catch him. 

“You’re an idiot,” Matt mutters, propping Nick up and making sure his foot is out of the way before sitting down next to him. “So Chloe made you a mix CD.” He pulls it out of his bag and hands it over. Nick squints at the writing on it.

“Starts with ‘Footloose’,” he says gleefully. “And then Britney’s ‘Ouch’. Amazing.”

“She’s hilarious,” Matt agrees. “Fiona sent you all your favourite red tops. _The Mirror, The Sun… Heat_ , obviously.” 

“Ooooh, Fifi,” Nick says, leafing through _Heat_ and then neatly stacking the magazines in his lap, mix CD resting on top of them. 

“Ian said to tell you he ordered you crutches with rainbow pattern on. Rave crutches for Ibiza, y’know? He’ll come bring them over with Aimee some time later, though.”

“Awww, so nice,” Nick says. “Genuinely emosh, might cry.”

He does look kind of teary eyed. Matt is really quite worried about him. “Um, Scott and Chris sent a bunch of food, crisps and the like. I’ve got it all here.” 

“They’re nice.” Nick grins, then seems to shake off a stupor. “What’d you get me?” 

Matt plays dumb. “Me? Nothing. I’m here, aren’t I? My presence is my present.”

Nick frowns. “Nooooo, come on.”

“What?”

“Really?” 

“Really.”

“Noooooo. You’re smiling!” Nick reaches out and pokes Matt’s cheek. Matt bats his hand away gently.

“Okay, fine. I got you this.” He hands over a Toblerone bar and waits while Nick stares down at it. “Because of what you texted me last night,” he says, just in case Nick doesn’t remember.

Nick looks up at him. “Font want Toblerone,” he says slowly, and Matt can’t help but burst into laughter. Nick starts laughing, too, leaning against Matt and putting his face in Matt’s shoulder.

“Don’t want tobby doff,” Matt gasps out, making them both laugh even harder. Matt can’t breathe properly he’s laughing so hard, and Nick is one step away from actual tears running down his face.

“Ohhhhh my God,” Nick mumbles, coming down from it and wiping at his eyes. Matt giggles more at that, which just starts Nick laughing again. 

Eventually they do both stop, their laughter dying away at the same time and leaving them staring at each other in the silence. It’s kind of a textbook definition of tension you could cut with a knife, Matt thinks. He reaches for the hem of Nick’s t-shirt and tugs it down nonsensically.

“I’m gonna go make you some tea,” Matt says abruptly, pulling away and standing. Nick flops back into the corner of the sofa and stares at him, light headed. “This is cold,” Matt adds, picking up Nick’s abandoned tea. He continues standing there, holding the cup of tea and staring back at Nick. 

“Tea?” Nick asks after what could have been seconds or years or centuries. 

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. 

-

“Modern art, this was,” Nick says adamantly. “Jewel cases strewn about, a nice chewed-up trainer centrepiece--my dog’s an artist, I swear.”

“Uh huh,” Matt agrees, Fiona and Ian humming along with him. Nick has been blathering on about Puppy for a good two minutes now. “Hey, Nick, where’s Puppy gonna go when we’re in Ibiza?” 

“Don’t try to change the subject, Fincham,” Nick says. “I’m talking here. Respect your elders.”

Matt snorts. “When have I ever done _that_?” 

Nick stops and looks at Matt. “True. So we’re going to be broadcasting from Ibiza this Friday, and I’m probably going to pull a Lisa I’Anson and disappear into the depths of Amnesia, never to return, so you’ll want to listen to hear Finchy losing his mind.”

“Noooo,” Matt says sternly. “I’m not going to let you disappear. I don’t want you to be sacked.”

“You can’t stop me,” Nick says. “I’m a proper raver. Radio show? Nah. See ya, it’s party time.”

“No,” Matt says. “You can’t run off with your foot out of commission.”

“Yes, I can,” Nick says. “Fiona and I are going to party like there’s no tomorrow.”

“There’s a tomorrow though,” Matt says. “You’re going to party like there’s a tomorrow.”

“Nah. Right, Fifi? Fifi’s going to take care of me, she already offered to bathe me and everything.”

“I’m very torn,” Fiona says. “Haven’t decided yet. I mean, not about bathing you, I did say I’d do that, but about the degree of partying I want to get into.”

“You can’t party too hard, we need you to be sensible,” Matt says desperately. Fiona shrugs at him. 

“Oh, but she caaaaan!” Nick crows. Matt wants to punch him and then kiss the stupid grin right off his face. It’s very distracting. 

“Please wrap this up,” Ian says with the patience of a saint. “There will be some measure of partying, we get it.”

“All right, all right. So we’ll be at the airport tomorrow with the finalists in our competition to win the opportunity to spend the weekend bathing me in Ibiza. We’re going to find out who those lucky people are a bit later in the semi-finals. Right now, this is Icona Pop and ‘I Love It’ on BBC Radio 1.” 

“ _Thank_ you,” Ian says off air, exasperated. 

“No problem, happy to be of service. Hey, Finchy, that was a fair shout about you never respecting your elders. You were always a little shit in uni.” Nick throws a pen across the desk, Matt only just leaning out of the way of it. It hits the floor and goes rolling across the studio. Nick had better pick that up, because Matt’s sure as hell not going to. “Ickle Matty,” Nick adds, cooing.

“Shut up,” Matt says, rolling his eyes.

“That’s weird to think about,” Ian says. “You two in uni together?” 

“It’s not that weird,” Nick says.

“It is a bit,” Fiona says. 

Matt shrugs and catches Nick’s eye. “Wasn’t weird at the time,” he says. “Though I’d say Nick was a lot more strange looking.”

“Ouch,” Nick says, but he’s smiling at Matt. “You weren’t so hot yourself.”

“Thanks, baby,” Matt says. 

Later, Matt scrounges up an old picture he’d taken at a uni party to set as Nick’s screensaver for the purpose of annoying him (in it Nick is, of course, very drunk and wearing a dress, sitting on one of his girlfriends’ laps and looking very pleased to be alive), but when Nick comes back into the studio and sees it, he just raises his eyebrows at Matt and leaves it there. 

-

Nick probably shouldn’t have taken the shots that Calvin Harris offered them, but he’d felt _obligated_ , all right? Fucking obligated. Partying for the service of Britain and that. Matt’s going to kill Nick. He’d _said_ don’t take the shots, and Fiona listened, so Nick probably also should have listened, but it was about honour. 

“Honour,” Nick tells Fiona. “We are drunk in the name of honour.”

Fiona nods seriously and proceeds to trip over nothing and fall, catching herself against the wall of the hotel corridor and giggling madly. Nick laughs at her. 

“I should’ve had more shots,” Fiona muses while Nick tries to remember where the key to the hotel room went. He eventually succeeds in finding it in the back pocket of his jeans after thoroughly patting himself down. “Like, I just think I would have had even _more_ fun if there had been shots involved.”

“Shots with Calvin Harris!” Nick points out, opening the door to the room. “Jesus fucking Christ, it’s hot in here.” 

“It’s hot _everywhere_ ,” Fiona declares, throwing herself onto the bed and sprawling out. “Oh my God, this pillow is amazing.” She hugs the pillow to herself and starts rubbing her cheek against it. She looks rather like a cat, Nick thinks. 

Nick yanks off his t-shirt, and upon further thought, takes off his trousers as well. It’s too hot to be alive, let alone to be wearing clothes. “Stop taking up the whole bed, Fifi,” Nick demands, prodding at her side until she rolls over and he can get on the bed. He keeps prodding her, though, which makes her start groaning at him and trying to hit him. Nick grabs a pillow and starts using that as a weapon.

“I feel like I’m at a slumber party like in films,” Fiona says as she hits Nick upside the head with her pillow. 

Nick fails to hit her in the side, Fiona blocking his shot with her pillow, and Nick gives up. “It’s too much effort, let’s do other slumber party things instead,” he says, throwing his pillow on the floor. Fiona hits him again, but she only swings the pillow gently into his shoulder before dragging it back to herself and resuming hugging it, situating herself cross-legged on the end of the bed. Nick mirrors her, minus a pillow to hug. He maybe shouldn’t have thrown it all the way on the floor.

“What’s a slumber party thing?” Fiona asks. 

“I don’t bloody know, you’re the one who brought it up,” Nick says. 

“Gossiping about boys?” Fiona suggests. Nick shrugs at her, waggling his eyebrows, and Fiona giggles. “Ooh, Nick.” She stares at him as if daring him to tell her his deep, dark secrets. 

“You sure you wanna gossip about _boys_?” Nick asks, ignoring her stare. “What about you and a certain bleached blonde?” 

“Don’t make me hit you again!” Fiona says indignantly. “I have so much more ammo than you, you don’t want to go there.” 

“ _Ammo_ ,” Nick scoffs. “What ammo?”

Fiona shakes her head and makes her voice high pitched and mocking. “‘Oh, Finchy, I love your _jumper_. Oh wait, no, that’s _my_ jumper because you wear _all_ my jumpers because you’re _obsessed_ with me. It’s okay because I’m obsessed with you, too, Matty, I think you’re quite cute, oooh--’”

“Shut up, shut up,” Nick says, grabbing Fiona’s pillow and pulling it out of her grasp to start hitting her with it. 

Fiona ducks, protecting her head with her arms and refusing to shut up. “‘I don’t know how to be an adult about my feelings so I’m going to make it awkward for everyone! Avoidance is my middle name!’” She manages to take the pillow back and smack Nick with it so that when he tries to get out of the way, he ends up getting his legs tangled together and falling over, nearly going over the edge of the bed.

“Noooo, no pillow fights,” Nick complains. “Stoooop.”

“I told you you didn’t want to go there,” Fiona says, fluffing up the pillow and putting it where a pillow normally goes, curling up next to Nick. Nick situates himself so that he’s not almost falling off the bed and makes an attempt to get under the duvet that he ultimately gives up on. There are too many sheets on the stupid fucking bed, Nick can’t figure it out for the life of him. “Seriously though, Nick.”

“What?”

Fiona pokes him lazily in the arm. “What’s going on with you idiots?” 

Nick makes a face at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

“Shut _up_. Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t,” Nick whines. “Everything was fine, and then Matt turned the cold shoulder dial up to eleven and it was stupid awkward _forever_ , and I still don’t know why that happened. Then I got sick of _that_ and was even more stupid at his birthday party, you know all about that, but he doesn’t seem to hate me? And he got a cat? I don’t get it.”

“Jesus,” Fiona mumbles. “You need to sort that shit out.”

“Yeah, well. I think I’ve made it, like, super clear how I feel, so. What else am I supposed to do?” Nick had meant the question mostly rhetorically, but it occurs to him that maybe Fiona actually has some helpful insight. When he looks over at her, though, she appears to have fallen asleep. There goes that thought. “Some help you are,” he tells her. She makes a cute snuffling noise, and Nick wrinkles his nose. “Don’t be cute at me.” 

-

Nick wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder. He sleepily smacks them away and blearily opens his eyes. 

“Don’t _hit_ me,” Matt huffs. “Time to get up.”

Nick squints at him. “Noooo. Are you an angel? Angels should let people sleep.”

“Shut up. It’s a good thing I’m not an angel,” Matt says. “Do I look like an angel?”

“Y’got a halo,” Nick says, waving at Matt and nearly hitting him in the face. Matt does, too, the too bright overhead lights framing his face. 

“I’ve heard that one before,” Matt says dryly. “Hit Fiona again for me, would you?” 

Nick flaps a hand at Fiona and succeeds in barely tapping at her arm. Matt sighs and goes around the bed to prod at Fiona again. “Up and at ‘em, we’ve got the radio to do.”

“Wha?” Fiona asks, and Matt thanks his lucky stars for the most life he’s seen from her since he came into the room. 

“Thought you might’ve died,” he says, and then Fiona bolts upright and Matt barely gets out of her way as she runs in the direction of the bathroom. “Charming,” he says, hoping she actually makes it there.

“I feel like something died in my mouth,” Nick says. 

“That’s charming as well,” Matt says. “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

“Pffft, clothes,” Nick says. “No one needs clothes.”

“I’m your producer. This is inappropriate,” Matt says pointlessly.

“Your _face_ is inappropriate,” Nick shoots back, rolling over and hiding his face in Fiona’s abandoned pillow.

Matt rolls his eyes. “Get up,” he commands. “Where’s your suitcase?”

“I dunno what a suitcase is,” Nick mumbles. 

“You are insufferable.” Matt locates Nick’s bag in a corner of the room and starts going through it looking for something for Nick to wear.

“I don’t want to work at Radio 1 anymore,” Nick says, having flopped onto his back again. Matt throws a t-shirt at him. Nick throws it back. “I would rather quit than get up.”

“You would not,” Matt says, picking the t-shirt up off the floor and dumping it and a pair of jeans back in Nick’s lap. “If I have to put this t-shirt on you myself, I will.”

“I really would just rather not,” Nick assures him. “Tell Big Boss Ben Cooper I send my regards.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Matt says. 

“Tell everyone I died,” Fiona declares as she comes back into the room. 

Matt can see her angling for getting back in bed and hurries to intercept. “No, no, don’t. You’re up, stay up.”

“Nick has to get up, too,” Fiona says petulantly.

Matt throws up his hands. “You’re both _five_. Nick, get out of the bloody bed, come on.”

“No.”

Matt stalks back over and grabs Nick’s arm, dragging him over and then getting Matt’s other arm under Nick’s so he can basically lift him out of the bed. Nick lets himself flop against Matt, chin hooked over his shoulder, grumbling nonsensically. Sometimes Matt is so glad that Nick is practically made of nothing. 

Fiona makes suggestive faces at Nick behind Matt’s back. “Stop it, I’m too hungover to deal with that,” Nick says, pointing at her. “Get out of here before I vomit on you.” 

Matt has no idea what Nick is on about, but “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone until we’re done with work responsibilities.” 

“Not you,” Nick says, watching Fiona stick her tongue out at him as she leaves. “Matty. Hey, Matty. Do me a promise?”

“What?” Matt asks warily. “If it has anything to do with letting you go back to sleep--”

“No,” Nick interrupts. Matt smells like fresh cologne, the same kind he’d used in uni, and Nick is suddenly feeling overly emotional. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“Don’t leave.”

“Okay,” Matt says slowly. He’s not emotionally equipped for a conversation like this right now, but he feels the need to reassure Nick of the implicit truth of their lives. “I’m not going to leave.” He reaches for the t-shirt that’s still on the bed and offers it to Nick in an attempt to get him to snap out of it. “How’s about some clothes?” 

It seems to work. Nick stands properly on his own and says, “Fine, but I’m not happy about it.” He holds out his arms like he expects Matt to put the shirt on for him. To be fair, Matt had just said he would if he had to. He really does feel like he’s babysitting a giant toddler. Sometimes he has to stop and question how all the events in his life have led him to all the moments like this one. 

Matt sighs and bunches up the shirt, shoving Nick’s arms through the correct holes and leaving it there. “I assume you’re actually capable of the rest,” he says. “I’ll go get you some water, okay? I’m not leaving, I’ll be right back, and by the time I am I want to see you wearing trousers.”

Nick scrunches up his face as he tugs the t-shirt over his head. He sits down on the edge of the bed and considers the jeans, then considers the merits of going back to sleep. There are a lot of them, but Matt would be disappointed, so Nick fights past the headache and nausea and starts yanking on the trousers. 

He wonders how Fiona is faring, unsure if he hopes she feels worse or better than him. Maybe about the same, to be a fair person. He suddenly recalls her wheedling him about Matt the night before and frowns to himself. 

“Look at that, you’re fully clothed,” Matt says. “I’m proud of you. Here’s your reward.”

“Mmm, water,” Nick deadpans, taking the proffered water bottle Matt had scrounged up. “Hey, remind me to talk to you about something when I’m not hungover and about to broadcast to six million people.”

Matt looks at him quizzically. “Um, all right then,” he says, choosing not to ask or even think too hard about it. “Speaking of those six million people, we need to go.”

Nick sighs. “Fine.”

“Look at that, an agreement! We’ve come so far in just a few short minutes,” Matt says. 

“Don’t expect too much more,” Nick warns him. “This is probably as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Whatever, I’ll take it.” 

-

Matt never reminds Nick. He means to, he really does, it’s just that Nick immediately runs off to go party more after the show, and then they’re on their two week holiday and Matt completely forgets that Nick ever said anything, to be honest. 

They don’t see each other again until Nick’s birthday party. If Matt thought there were a lot of people who showed up to _his_ birthday party, Nick’s is completely batshit. The sheer number of people crammed into their section of the club is enough to make Matt want to find a quiet corner and hide out, except for that he’d really like Nick to actually notice that Matt made an appearance. He doesn’t want it to look like he’s back to avoiding Nick’s invitations to things.

He shouldn’t have worried, as it turns out. Nick spots him within ten minutes of his arrival and waves him over to where he’s sitting with a group of people. “Finchy! I’ve missed you, what have you been doing with your hermit crab impression time?”

Matt smiles despite himself. “Getting some much needed rest,” he says. “You’re a lot to handle.”

That makes everyone laugh. “I don’t know how you do it,” Henry says. “Drives me mad after five minutes, he does.”

“Oh, please,” Nick says. 

“If anyone knows how I do it, it’s you,” Matt points out. Nick gestures for Matt to sit in the conveniently empty chair next to him, and Matt complies.

Henry rolls his eyes. “Fair enough. We need to do a toast to our patience, I think.”

Nick scoffs. “Oh, sure, no toasts to me! It’s definitely not my birthday or anything.”

“I definitely came for the drinks and not you,” Matt says. “Happy birthday or whatever, though.” He nudges Nick’s arm with his elbow. 

“Thank you,” Nick says, holding up his glass for Matt to clink his together with. “To me, and I suppose to the infinite patience of my friends, but mostly just to me.”

“We’re honoured just to be in your presence, really,” Aimee chimes in.

“Damn straight,” Nick says, slamming his empty glass down on the table. 

Matt cringes. “Don’t break things.”

“You’re the least fun,” Nick says, shoving at Matt’s arm. “Loosen up, Finchy, I know you’re capable.”

Matt makes a face and is about to protest when he gets distracted by Daft Punk coming on. “Oooh, ‘One More Time’,” he says, eyes lighting up. 

“Tuuuune,” Nick says. “You got proper excited there, we can’t let this pass us by.” He stands and grabs Matt’s hand, tugging him up as well. “We have to dance.” Matt lets Nick drag him away without protest, resigned to the fact that Nick isn’t giving him a choice in the matter. Matt always wants to dance when he hears Daft Punk, anyway.

"I'll just watch these then!" Henry yells after them, pulling their drinks over to himself. When Matt looks back, Aimee has definitely taken over his drink for herself. 

Nick looks slightly ridiculous bouncing along, quiff miraculously staying flawless, but Matt doesn’t imagine he looks any more normal himself. Overrated, really; Nick’s grin is infectious, and if someone cares what you look like when you’re getting down to Daft Punk, they really need to sort out their priorities. 

Matt feels like it should be awkward, dancing with Nick like this, but it really isn’t. He feels like he’s been here before, in a sense--like déja vu. The situation might be different, but the details are all the same. 

“We should put this on the Nickstape!” Nick says into Matt’s ear. 

Matt nods. “For sure!” he replies, leaning toward Nick when Nick tries to leave space between them. 

Nick smiles and doesn’t try to move away again. He’s still trying to play it safe and not make any wrong moves that might scare Matt off, but for once he feels like he’s succeeding. Matt isn’t trying to pull away from Nick at all. 

-

“Home, home, home,” Nick sing-songs into Matt’s ear. Matt sighs and drags him through the door of Nick’s flat.

“Why are you still hanging off me?” he asks. Nick had latched on to him and demanded that Matt take him home, and he hasn’t properly let go since.

“Want to,” Nick says. “Sofa time, go go go.” He kicks the door shut behind them and directs Matt over to the sofa, making him sit and getting the remote off the coffee table to turn the telly on. He sits next to Matt and puts his legs over Matt’s lap. “Nothing on,” he says after clicking through a grand total of two channels, tossing the remote away. Matt makes an aborted movement after it, deciding that they probably wouldn’t find anything worth watching at this time even if they actually looked.

Nick shifts closer and presses his face into Matt’s neck. “Hi,” Matt says.

Nick looks up at him. “Hey,” he says back. The telly is murmuring in the background, but the whole world may as well have shut down around them for the amount either of them are paying attention to anything other than staring at each other. 

Nick’s quiff has finally lost its magical properties, his hair fallen down into his eyes, and eventually Matt reaches for it. He means to just move it out of the way so he can see Nick’s eyes, but he gets caught up in running his fingers through it, smoothing it back up and trying to shape it back into its proper quiff. Nick’s heart catches in his throat, remembering the first time Matt did the exact same thing. He’d thought after that, vaguely, that he’d never want to kiss anyone more than he did then, but here, years later, he's proving himself wrong. 

Matt curls strands of hair around his fingers and lets them fall again. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his hand away.

“No,” Nick says, reaching for Matt’s hand and stopping it. “S’fine, innit.” He doesn’t let Matt’s hand go, though, instead carefully threading their fingers together, both of them watching intently as Nick slides one finger after the other between Matt’s and eventually squeezes Matt’s hand. Matt squeezes back. 

“Okay,” Matt says belatedly, looking up from their hands to meet Nick’s gaze again. 

Without warning, the sharp noise of Puppy barking snaps through their personal silent bubble on the sofa. They both start violently and break eye contact. Matt tries to pull away from Nick, but Nick won’t let him get very far. He doesn’t want Matt to think it’s all right to just run away and ignore the moment Nick is one hundred percent sure they just had. He’s drunk, yes, and so is Matt, but he doesn’t think either of them are so drunk that they’ll forget this. Matt frowns slightly but relaxes.

“Finchy, be a dear and go see what my obnoxious dog child wants? I would, but if I stand up off this sofa I’ll fall on my face and we’ll be taking a trip to A&E.” Nick lets Matt go, sliding his legs off Matt’s lap. He figures Matt will come back if he wants to, metaphorically and literally. 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Matt says, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet. 

“Nope,” Nick agrees, stretching himself out on the sofa. 

Matt finds Puppy sitting at the back door. She gets up excitedly when she sees Matt and runs off into the garden like a jet when Matt opens the door for her. She does a lap once, then again, stopping more often to sniff things, and then bounding back to the door, right past Matt and into the flat. 

“Didn’t you have to pee?” Matt asks her incredulously. She looks at him with what he could swear is the Jack Russell form of disdain and curls up in her bed. Matt shakes his head and closes the door. 

When Matt gets back to the living room, he finds Nick fully asleep and unresponsive to mild poking in the shoulder. He sighs to himself and locates a blanket, spreading it carefully over Nick and tucking in the edges by his feet and shoulders. “Idiot,” he says fondly. In his late night drunken sentimentality, he seriously considers kissing Nick on the forehead, then hurriedly stands up straight and takes a step away from the sofa for good measure. 

He relocates himself to Nick’s bed before he can have any other sappy thoughts and possibly, perish the thought, actually act on them. He deliberately doesn’t think about being surrounded by blankets that smell like Nick; it’s really no big deal. It’s just that Nick is on the one sofa, and Matt is well aware that Aimee and Ian had sex on the other one. 

The last time Matt was in Nick’s bed, what now feels like millennia ago, Nick was there as well. It feels somehow more intimate now that he’s not, for reasons Matt doesn’t care to examine too thoroughly. Thankfully for his sanity, the alcohol makes sure he doesn’t end up spending hours obsessing over his emotions and what does and does not constitute being domestic. Instead, he drifts off to sleep within five minutes of tucking the duvet up beneath his chin. If he dreams about making dinner with Nick, Puppy nipping at their heels, well. That’s just his overactive subconscious.

 

_part five_

 

“I don’t know about this,” Matt says. 

“Don’t be daft,” Hannah huffs on the other end of the phone line. “It’s early and I don’t have time for it.”

Matt double checks the lock on the door of the cubicle he’s hidden himself in. Sorry, other Radio 1 employees, Matt Fincham needs to have a crisis. “I told you this would happen.”

“And I told _you_ that you’ve got this,” Hannah says. “You have to do it right, because if at first you don’t succeed, don’t bother trying again, remember?”

“I feel like I’m breaking the Fincham family motto just by virtue of even doing this,” Matt says.

“Nonsense, that would require you to have actually tried in the first place. Tell me again what you’re going to say.”

Matt takes a deep breath and stares at the floor. “I’m going to say--”

“Pretend I’m Nick,” Hannah interrupts. 

“That’s what I was _about_ to do,” Matt says. “Okay. Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Matty,” Hannah says, making her voice high-pitched.

“If we’re going to roleplay, don’t make a mockery of it,” Matt says, annoyed.

“Fine, fine. Hi, Matty,” Hannah says in her normal voice. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if… um…” He trails off and lets his head fall back against the toilet door. “Tell me it again.”

He can hear Hannah sighing. “You _know_ it, we went over this last night. You don’t need me to tell you. Take some deep breaths and try again.” 

Matt turns around and presses his forehead against the door instead. Deep breathing, right. Inhale, exhale. This is not terrifying. He is an adult. “Hi, Nick. Do you want to go out for dinner with me tonight?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Hannah says. “There you go, great job. Now go say it to his face.”

Matt groans into his mobile.

“Don’t give me that. Suck it up,” Hannah says, and then the line goes dead. Matt frowns at the call ended display and sighs before tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and going to splash water on his face.

Matt finds Nick at his desk. He looks up and smiles when he sees Matt approaching. “Hiya, Finchy.”

“Hi, Nick,” Matt says, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. He gets stalled when he glances past Nick at Fiona’s desk and registers that she’s not there. Thank God. Matt had really not factored in the outside influences thing. If he could have his way, he and Nick would be transported to an entirely different plane of existence for this exchange to happen. 

“What’s up?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I. Um. Do you want to go out for dinner with me tonight?”

Nick’s eyes widen. “Yeah, sure,” he says quickly. “Er. Like a date?”

Matt sighs. “Yeah, like a date.”

Nick grins. “Yes. What time?”

Matt stares at him. “That’s it?” He’d been picturing something a lot more complicated. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but nothing nearly so simple as Nick just saying yes straight away. Nick quirks an eyebrow at him. “I mean, uh, seven?”

Nick stares back. “Okay… seven it is. Text me where?”

“Yeah, will do,” Matt says. Nick continues to watch him even as he walks away, waiting until he’s around the corner to pull out his phone and start tapping out a text to all of his closest friends.

 _Big news: date with Finchy tonight???? Send help_. Nick sends the text and puts his mobile down on his desk, then immediately picks it back up and texts Henry specifically: _Send clothes._

It doesn’t take long at all for people to start replying. Collette sends _Are ya jokin?!?!_ , which makes Nick laugh, and then follows it up with _I’m so proud of you Grim!!!!!!!!!_ , which is more emotional. Nick sends her a prawn emoji. 

Aimee sends him a string of emojis including multiple praise hands, gay men holding hands, and more aubergines than Nick can count. Nick replies with _???????????_ and an aubergine just to punctuate the statement. 

The responses keep coming, most of them mocking yet supportive, including Alexa’s suggestive pointing emoji and a-ok emoji pair and Pixie’s many, many exclamation points and smiley faces. Henry eventually texts back _Congrats. Wear your own clothes, loser._ Nick sends him a sad face. 

LMC informs him that she’s asking Tumblr to “make grincham wedding invitations”, to which Nick replies that they should probably say ‘finshaw’ instead. LMC sends him a shocked face emoji at nearly the same time Fiona texts _FINALLY, fucking idiots._ Fifi gets a heart because Nick appreciates how much time she’s spent dealing with his and Matt’s bullshit. 

Ian is probably the nicest and most supportive friend that Nick has. He replies with _You don’t need help! It’ll go great. :) Congrats, let me know how you make out._ Nick says _I will let you know how we “make out”, thank you_ and puts a kissing emoji at the end just to fuck with him. Ian sends back _Oh :(_ and Nick laughs, spinning his chair around. This is possibly the best day of his life thus far. Top five, at least. Nothing can bring him down. 

-

Nick considers Matt’s tendency toward being early and aims to get to the restaurant before seven, but he ends up redoing his hair three times and gets there merely on time. Matt is waiting outside and raises his eyebrows at Nick. “Way to keep me waiting,” he says. “I almost thought you’d stood me up.”

Nick frowns. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that. I was just…” He gestures at his hair and tries to look sincerely sorry, which he actually is.

“Relax,” Matt says, immediately feeling bad. Nick maybe didn’t have to try so hard at the facial expression thing. “I’m joking. I was only here for a minute.”

“Oh,” Nick says. 

“You look nice,” Matt adds quickly, afraid Nick might think Matt doesn’t appreciate the effort put in on his hair.

“Thanks,” Nick says, nervously smoothing down the hem of his blazer. “You do, too,” he adds truthfully. Matt is wearing dark wash jeans that actually fit him and a white shirt under bright green jumper combination that vaguely reminds Nick of Ian. He wonders if Matt asked Ian for fashion tips.

“Thanks,” Matt says. 

There’s a loaded pause, both of them looking away from each other and then back, smiling sheepishly, and then Nick says, “Well. Should we go in?”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees, “let’s go.” 

Nick follows Matt inside. It's a Greek restaurant, the decor very crisp and bright, with white tablecloths and fluorescent light fixtures on the walls. They get seated at a table in a corner. Matt pulls out Nick's chair for him, and Nick stares at him for a moment before laughing slightly and sitting down. "What was that for?"

Matt shrugs uncomfortably as he sits. He feels like for it to be a date, he really needs to act like he would on a date. The problem is that Nick probably has a frame of reference for what makes a date that differs a lot from Matt's. "We're on a date," he says simply, picking up the menu and avoiding eye contact.

"You don't have to tick boxes for it to be a date," Nick points out.

Matt frowns. "I like ticking boxes."

Nick shrugs, opening his menu. “You go for it, then. I’ll try not to laugh at you.”

Matt snorts. “Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick says, looking at his menu instead of at Matt. He snorts at it, and Matt looks up.

“What?”

“Grilled aubergine,” Nick says, grinning. 

“Oh my God.” Matt rolls his eyes. “Please don’t order that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Nick says. “Are you gonna order for me, Finchy?” 

Matt makes a face. “No, you’re an adult.”

“I dunno, I think I need more help than these little pronunciation guides can give me,” Nick says, proceeding to dramatically sound out all the Greek words on the menu. Matt can’t help but laugh at him. 

They’re both noticeably playing it safe at first, and their mutual knowledge of this makes everything slightly uncomfortable. Eventually, though, Nick asks how Moya is doing and starts needling Matt about what Nick calls his ‘festival cat’, and they’re too busy arguing about the merits of different species of pets to be overthinking anything. 

Really, being on a date is ultimately no different than any other time they’ve gone out for a meal together, whether it was in a restaurant or just the BBC canteen. They get one of the meals that are meant for two to share--because, as Nick points out, they would both eat half of the other’s food anyway--and they bicker about which of the two options they want, grinning and kicking each other under the table. Nick feels like a slightly more worldly version of the carefree person he was in his early years of uni.

“Do you think Showbot would approve of all this?” Nick says at a lull in the conversation, picking up one of the last chips and inspecting it before popping it in his mouth. 

Matt considers it. “She’d probably say she doesn’t care and tell you to shut up and play a record,” he decides. “This is not for on air, you know that, right? I know what happens off air happens on air, but this… no.”

“No,” Nick agrees, nodding. “Of course not.”

Matt nods and reaches for the chips. “This is just for us,” he says without thinking about it.

Nick stares across the table at Matt and mentally throws up. “That’s sappy as fuck.”

“Er. Yeah.” Matt shrugs.

Nick smiles. “Nice, though,” he says. He knocks his leg against Matt’s under the table and leaves their ankles pressed together. “That a ticky box in your checklist?”

Matt shakes his head. “Nah.” He tries to mask how flustered he actually feels by ripping a piece of flatbread in half.

“I told my friends, though,” Nick says.

That catches Matt’s attention. “All of your friends?”

“All of my close friends, yeah.”

“So… the entire population of Great Britain?” Matt asks teasingly.

“Shut up, no.” Nick moves a fork from one side of a plate to the other. “You’re not bothered, right?” He hasn’t thought about it, really, but if Matt said he _was_ bothered, Nick thinks that might actually be a bit of a problem. He desperately, desperately does not want this to be the thing that fucks it all up.

“Not bothered,” Matt says easily, and that’s that. “Are you going to have some of this?” He points at one of the plates.

Nick wrinkles his nose. “I dunno about that.”

“You have to at least try it,” Matt coaxes. “Come on.”

“Maybe if you feed it to me,” Nick says, grinning cheekily.

Matt rolls his eyes. “Fine then.” He picks up one of the dolmades and holds it out to Nick. Nick, like the annoying twat he is, refuses to move closer, so Matt has to stretch all the way across the table to get his fingers anywhere near Nick's mouth. "Work with me here," he says, exasperated.

Nick leans forward the slightest bit and opens his mouth. Matt sighs and shoves the whole leaf in Nick's mouth just to be annoying. That backfires a bit when Nick deliberately runs his tongue over Matt's thumb whilst looking the most pleased Matt has ever seen someone with a mouth full of dolmades look.

"You're gross," Matt informs Nick, wiping his thumb off on his napkin.

"You're grossest," Nick replies. "You should probably feed me another one."

Matt sighs, but he does do it. He’s only so strong. 

Matt insists on paying because he did the asking. It actually is a box on his checklist this time, so Nick keeps his amusement to a minimum as promised. They decide to take a cab back together, an idea that Nick regrets when it ends up being slightly tense, both of them unsure what to do and thus sitting as far away from each other as possible and staring at their phones. 

Nick gets out as well when they arrive at Matt’s flat and asks the driver to wait. He feels like being walked to the door would definitely be one of Matt’s ticky boxes. Romantic comedies have that all the time. 

“So, I had fun,” Nick says when they’re in front of Matt’s door.

“Me too, “ Matt agrees, flipping pointlessly through the keys on his keyring. 

"Um. Yeah. Bye," Nick says, taking a step backward away from Matt.

"Bye," Matt replies, copying. "See you… tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Nick doesn't move any further, and neither does Matt. They stare at each other, neither of them wanting to let the night end. Nick is the first one to break, considering how stupid they must look and going to turn away.

"Wait."

Nick turns back immediately. "Yeah?"

"Just… let me tick one more box," Matt says, closing the distance between them and kissing Nick quickly on the lips before he can talk himself out of it. Nick barely has time to kiss back before Matt is back where he'd been standing before.

"Um," Nick says, rocking back on his heels. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Bye," Matt says. His cheeks are flushed bright pink, and Nick doesn't want to let him go.

"Bye," he replies. "Thanks."

Matt frowns for a moment, but he can't keep that expression very long before he’s smiling again. "Thanks for what?"

Nick waves a hand. "All of this."

"Okay then," Matt says. "You're welcome."

They do eventually stop standing there blushing and grinning at each other, but it takes a good long while.

-

“Hey,” Nick stage whispers, leaning over to Fiona’s desk. “Hey, Fifi.”

“What?” Fiona asks, not looking away from the magazine she has open in front of her face.

“Do you wanna hear how my date went?”

“No.”

Nick ignores her. “It went really well. Like _really_ well. I’ve never really been on a proper date before, but I’m pretty sure this one could’ve been in a film and nobody would have questioned it. That’s how well it went.”

“Cool,” Fiona says, still staring at her magazine and clearly trying very hard to pretend the conversation isn’t happening.

“He even kissed me. There was _kissing_.”

“Stop right there, just. Please. Stop,” Fiona says. “You sound like a thirteen year old girl.”

“I feel like a thirteen year old girl. Like, I want to ask him out again, right? But how soon is too soon? I don’t want to seem too eager and scare him off, but I also don’t want him to have any doubt that I’m interested in him.” He stops for a minute, then adds, “I think I saw a headline about this on _Cosmo_ when I was getting coffee this morning, do you think I should buy _Cosmo_?”

“ _God_ no,” Fiona says, closing her magazine and putting it down on her desk. “I don’t think you can go wrong here as long as you _do_ ask him out again. Like, soon, not in a week or whatever. It’s been many months of this torture, Nicholas.”

“Right, duh,” Nick says. “But what should we do? We did the whole dinner thing, I don’t know any other date-y things. Other than, like, the cinema? But I hate films.” He pulls out his phone and announces, “I’m going to Google it.”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.” Fiona sighs.

“Wake up at 4 AM and watch the sunrise together,” Nick reads from an article.

“You basically do that daily,” Fiona points out. “You don’t need that reminder.”

“True,” Nick says. “Ooh, random restaurant date?”

“You just said you didn’t want to do dinner again. Also, that sounds vaguely hazardous.”

“Hot air ballooning?”

“No.”

“Tree climbing date?”

“A&E date, you mean.”

“Liveblog your date? Ooh, we could give it its own hashtag.”

Fiona stares at him. “Because _that_ would be a good idea with your hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers and all.”

Nick makes a face. “The silent date?”

“Do you even know who you are?” Fiona asks. “Why don’t you just ask him if he wants to go to lunch after the show tomorrow and then you can take Puppy for a walk or something.”

“Oh,” Nick says. “That’s perfect. You’re amazing, Fifi. Like, _amazing_.”

“Whatever,” Fiona says, picking her magazine back up. “Please go away now.”

-

“Puppy! Puppy, leave that poor… whatever that is… alone!” Nick yells. Puppy ignores him, and Nick glances sheepishly over at Matt. “She’s a brat.”

“Kind of like you,” Matt says, knocking his shoulder against Nick’s. He adjusts his sunglasses and raises his voice. “Puppy!”

Puppy stops running in tiny circles and runs back to them, sniffing around their feet and looking up hopefully. Nick shakes his head. “How do you do that?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Matt says. 

Nick snorts. “Okay then, 007.”

It’s a nice day for a walk in Regent’s Park, the sun out in full force for once, and Puppy is almost as excited to be here as Matt is. He makes a mental note to tell Fiona that she should probably come up with all their date ideas and relay them through Nick. Like an honorary third member of the relationship or something. She would hate it, but it would be hilarious.

“You know,” Matt says, watching Nick crouch down and make faces at Puppy, “you still haven’t met my cat.”

Nick looks up at him. “Yeah,” he agrees cautiously. 

“So you should come over to my flat,” Matt says. “We can drop Puppy off at yours first.”

“Okay,” Nick says, clipping on Puppy’s lead and straightening up. “Let’s go, yeah.”

They take Puppy home and then get the tube to Matt's, sitting across from each other and smirking around random people. Matt doesn't shut up about Moya the entire walk from the station to his door. 

“The other day she was, like, _dancing_ to Haddaway, it was amazing,” Matt gushes.

“Haddaway,” Nick says flatly. “Truly remarkable, that.”

“Shut up, it was,” Matt says, pushing his door open. “Watch she doesn’t run out.”

Moya does not run outside, as she is much too busy taking up an entire sofa cushion. She blinks up at Matt when he starts cooing at her and looks extremely unimpressed when he picks her up. “Say hi to Nick, Moya,” Matt instructs. 

“Hi, kitty,” Nick says. Moya lets him sort of pat her head for a moment before wriggling like mad and forcing Matt to let her go.

“You have to earn her love,” Matt says, watching her curl up on the back of the sofa this time. He sounds like a man who has been to war and barely made it back alive. Nick makes mocking faces at him behind his back. “So, um.” Matt turns back to Nick, and Nick adopts an innocent expression. “D’you want to watch telly or summat?”

“Sure,” Nick says, sitting down on the sofa. Matt sits down next to him with a considerable space between them and turns on the telly. 

Nick couldn’t really say what Matt settles on having them watch, because he’s far too occupied with trying to get Matt to cuddle with him. Not a huge, clingy type cuddle, mind. Nick just wants some physical contact, here. He casually shifts every so often, closing the space between them one small fraction at a time. He thinks maybe Matt is doing the same, but he can’t be entirely sure he’s not imagining it. 

They’ve nearly achieved thigh touching when Moya decides to hop down directly between them and set back their progress a good bit. Both Nick and Matt glare after her as she leaves the room. What a disaster. Why did Matt ever get a cat? 

Matt is honestly contemplating using the cliché ‘yawn and put his arm around Nick’s shoulders’ move when Nick gets to his feet. “Going for a wee,” he announces, and when he returns a few minutes of Matt nervously fidgeting later, he drapes his legs over Matt’s and wraps his arms around Matt so that he can put his head on Matt’s shoulder. “There we go,” he mutters as Matt settles his own arms around Nick. 

Eventually they decide to order in Chinese takeaway, and they eat it from the boxes, sitting on opposites ends of the sofa with their feet tangled together, grinning at each other every so often. 

“You know,” Nick remarks, noticing the time whilst sneakily snapchatting a picture of Matt to Aimee with three heart-eyes emojis as the caption, “we’ve spent like fourteen hours straight together.”

“Whoops,” Matt says, sounding nowhere near sorry.

“It’s a wonder you haven’t strangled me yet,” Nick jokes.

“I’ve been considering it,” Matt shoots back, nudging Nick’s leg with his foot. “Figured it would be too much of a hassle to find a new presenter, though.”

Nick smirks. “It’d certainly be a shame. You’ve got me all trained up.”

“That I do,” Matt agrees. 

-

“Listen, Finchy, this Call or Delete is a really good one,” Nick says.

“Is it really?” Matt asks sceptically. “Usually you tell me about the really good ones.”

Nick makes a face at him across the desk. “Yes, really. Just listen.”

Matt sighs and obliges. There’s all the introductory bits with Eliza Doolittle, and then Nick is scrolling through his phone’s contacts and Eliza tells him to stop. The Nick on the recording immediately starts laughing. “Oh my God, this is a really good one. It’s landed on Matt Fincham’s mum.”

“No way,” Matt says. “You did _not_ call my mum.”

“Shhhh,” Nick says, waving a hand at Matt. Matt glares at him. 

On the recording, Ian encourages Nick to go for it. Matt makes a mental note to yell at Ian about that later. “Why are you going to say I have a problem?” Matt whines. “You can’t have told my mum I have a _problem_.”

“You _are_ a problem,” Nick points out. “For me. Daily.”

“I am _not_ ,” Matt says indignantly, sniffing dramatically. Nick laughs at him. “Oh noooo, it went to voicemail. You’re going to leave her a horrible message about my _problems._ ” Matt puts his face in his hands, then bolts upright when Nick on the recording says he’s the son Wendy wishes she’d had. “Don’t appropriate my mum!”

“Shut up, you know you want me to be her son.” Nick winks over exaggeratedly, then frowns. “In law. If that wasn’t clear.”

“It was clear,” Matt says, trying to ignore the fuzzy feelings bursting in his chest. “Why did you tell her the show isn’t sounding great because I have a problem with you? Why is this phone call a thing that happened?”

“I don’t know, the look on your face is kind of making it all worth it.”

“We’re not going for therapy with my mum,” Matt says sternly. “Or, actually, maybe we should, as you just signed that off by saying that you love her. Great, thank the Lord that’s over.”

Nick attempts to hide a snicker behind his hand. Matt narrows his eyes at him. 

A moment later, Matt discovers that Nick had been laughing because Wendy actually _called back,_ and Ian told Nick to pick up. Matt puts his face back in his hands.

“I’m so sorry to hear about that, that’s dreadful,” Wendy tells Nick.

“I know,” Nick complains. “I think he hates me.”

Matt groans. “Yeah, because that’s what she needs to be hearing.”

“Oh, no, he definitely doesn’t hate you,” Wendy says reassuringly.

“She knows her shit,” present day Nick says, making Matt miss whatever his mum says next. 

“So I’m up for any therapy, we can get you two together, sort it all out, and it’ll be fine,” Wendy continues. Nick on the recording agrees and says goodbye. Matt refuses to look up at the actual Nick in the studio.

“That was so edited,” Matt mumbles into his hands. “What else did you say to my mum? Actually, no, don’t tell me.”

“Nothing bad at all,” Nick says. “I like your mum.”

Matt sighs and gives up on hiding his face. “I know, you text her more than I do.”

Nick tuts. “Should text your mother more, Matthew.”

“Jesus Christ,” Matt says. He does take out his mobile to text his mum an apology, though, and he has two texts from Hannah waiting for him.

 _LOLOLOL, oh yeah, you definitely “hate” him. That’s the source of your “problem.”_ There’s a couple minutes in between, and then she follows it up with _Is this recording recent vs, say, from spring??_

Matt scowls and texts her back _You’re mean :(_

 _I learned from the best,_ Hannah replies, tacking the nail polish emoji on the end. Matt resists the urge to go bash his head against a wall.

“You seem stressed,” Nick comments. “Do you need to go scream in an empty room? Fifi and I did that the other day, it was very freeing.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I think I’ll live.”

“Have it your way,” Nick says dismissively. "Hey, do you want to come over Friday night? I'll make you my famous spinach pie."

Matt rolls his eyes. "Spinach pie? Are we back to that again?"

"An apology for terrorising your mum," Nick suggests.

"Fine, sure," Matt agrees, as if he was ever going to say no. 

"Great," Nick says, thumbing his mobile unlocked and opening his text thread with Aimee. 

_No can do_ , he replies to her text asking if he wants to go out on Friday. _Plans with Matt._

She replies promptly with a string of question marks and _do you ever not anymore???_

 _Shhhh, this is a delicate time :) :),_ Nick responds.

She sends him a single aubergine emoji. Nick admires that. It’s what he would do.

-

Nick manages to make what is possibly his best incarnation of the spinach pie ever, and he’s made the spinach pie a _lot_. Matt rolls his eyes and informs him that everyone was over the spinach pie thing "like, two years ago." Nevertheless, he does eat it fairly enthusiastically, so Nick isn't that bothered even before Matt says, "Thanks, though. I know you meant it."

"Damn right," Nick replies. "I express my feelings only through food now."

Matt shakes his head, giving Nick a long-suffering look. "Please don't. Words are so often more effective."

Nick knows well the truth in that, so the face he makes at him is solely the principle of the thing.

Matt helps Nick with the washing up, which mostly consists of a lot of flicking bubbles at each other and giggling, and when that's done they migrate to the living room without really discussing it.

The whole ‘not really discussing it’ thing is becoming a disturbing trend, Nick thinks. It’s unnerving him how quickly everything from hanging out most of the time to laying on his sofa with his head in Matt’s lap after making him dinner is becoming their normal without them ever talking about how they got here. Nick is trying to focus on the episode of _The X Factor_ that he’d insisted Matt put on, but he just can’t. He doesn’t know if he wants to keep going down this path if they’re just going to get turned around more than halfway in because they didn’t communicate properly.

He presses his cheek to Matt’s jumper and breathes in slowly, letting the air out in a quick sigh.

“What’s up with you?” Matt asks.

Nick freezes. “Um. I know it’s supposed to be normal and not something we talk about, but—“

“We can talk about it if you want,” Matt interrupts, picking up the clicker and turning the volume on the telly down.

“Oh,” Nick says. “Okay, um.” He sits up and turns so that he’s facing Matt. “I do want to, I guess. Like, were you avoiding me back in the spring? Be honest.”

“Yes,” Matt says immediately.

Nick’s heart sinks. “Oh,” he says, looking away.

“Hey, no,” Matt says. He’s very calm, not showing any signs of freaking out or trying to run away, and that makes Nick feel a thousand percent less terrified of the serious conversation. “It didn’t have anything to do with you. I know that’s cliché, but honestly. I realised my feelings for you and it was really overwhelming for me? So obviously the solution was to be really stupid about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Nick says automatically. His self from April would probably be angry to hear him say it, but April feels like it was years ago, and being overwhelmed and stupid is something Nick understands inherently. He pauses, then adds, “Your feelings?” He raises his eyebrows and involuntarily smiles.

“Yeah, stupid,” Matt says fondly. “My mushy feelings for your annoying face.”

“Aw, Finchy,” Nick coos. “I think your face is annoying, too.” They fall silent for a minute, Matt adjusting the collar of Nick’s flannel shirt and Nick pretending to brush a bit of fluff off of Matt’s cheekbone. “While we’re at it, I’m really sorry about what I did at your birthday party.”

Matt shakes his head. “I could have had a better response, to be honest.”

“No,” Nick says adamantly. “I was out of line and entirely rude to you.”

“Well then, apology accepted,” Matt says. He’s started stroking his fingers through Nick’s quiff now. “We both really suck at this.”

“We really do,” Nick agrees. “But at least we suck at it together.”

Matt nods. “And hey, we’re not doing too badly now.”

“Right? I think this perfectly adult conversation is giving me hives, ugh.” Nick fake shudders and they both laugh. They catch each other’s eyes as their laughter fades, and Matt’s hand stills in Nick’s hair. The atmosphere feels different than it had been a second ago, somehow both clearer and more loaded. Nick leans forward just the slightest bit, cautious, and Matt moves to meet him halfway in a kiss.

It’s not the same as the very few times they’ve kissed before, where it was just a quick goodbye, a question they were still figuring out the answer to. Now it’s like they’ve realised the answer was there all along, hidden somewhere in each other’s mouths, and they just needed to catch up.

It gets desperate quickly, months of build-up bursting to the surface all at once, and Matt feels hot with it. He tugs at the buttons on Nick’s shirt, succeeding in undoing most of them and half pulling it off Nick’s shoulder, but he’s unwilling to stop kissing him for longer than the moment it takes to kiss him again. Nick reluctantly moves away long enough to pull his shirt off and crawl into Matt’s lap, straddling him. Matt makes a disapproving noise when Nick stops kissing him, and he won’t let Nick pause to look at him with his hands on Matt’s face like he wants to, kissing him again as soon as his mouth is within range. It’s a much better angle now, easier for Nick to really kiss Matt the dirty, open mouthed way he wants to.

 _This is really happening_ , Matt thinks, dragging his fingers down the bare expanse of Nick’s back. _We made it._ It occurs to him that maybe they should be taking this a bit slower, really appreciating every touch with respect to the time it took to get here, but he can’t seem to put it into practice. Nick’s hands are shoving underneath Matt’s jumper, and Nick’s tongue is in Matt’s mouth, and really, they have ages to slow it down. This is right now.

“Come on,” Nick mutters, trying to get Matt to take off his jumper. Matt cooperates, putting his arms up so that Nick can pull it over his head and throw it to the other side of the sofa.

Matt kisses Nick again, short and sweet before he pulls away to suggest, “Maybe we should move this elsewhere?” 

Nick smirks. “My bed, now,” he says, clearly a mockery of Matt. 

Matt laughs despite himself. “Really though,” he says, shoving at Nick’s arm. “Get off me, you fiend.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m on board with the moving,” Nick says, getting to his feet and taking Matt’s hand to help him up as well. He doesn’t let go, leading Matt to his bedroom. “Have you seen Puppy? Oooh, there she is.” Nick spots her curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Out of the room, Puppy,” he coos, letting go of Matt’s hand so that he can usher Puppy out the door and close it behind her. “Now, I believe we were somewhere here,” Nick says, hooking his fingers into the top of Matt’s jeans and pulling him toward the bed.

Somewhere during the process of walking down the corridor, it’s occurred to Matt that this encounter is most definitely leading somewhere. Namely, it’s leading to a place that Matt has only ever been in his head and has zero practice with anything resembling it. He’s trying not to freak out about it, but Nick pulling Matt down on top of him and kissing him is kind of making that hard. Matt takes the first available opportunity to flip them so that Nick is on top instead, hoping Nick will get the hint and keep leading.

Nick doesn’t think much of it, too busy eyeing exactly the patch of pale skin on Matt’s neck that he’s going to bruise and then actually doing so. When he pulls away to look at his bright red handiwork, Matt whispers, “Trashbaaaaag,” setting them both giggling madly. 

“You’re the trashbag here,” Nick says when he stops laughing. 

“Mmmm,” Matt hums, clearly angling his head in an attempt to get Nick to kiss him again. “You like it.”

“I do,” Nick agrees before kissing him. He reaches for the button of Matt’s jeans, and Matt raises his hips to help Nick pull the jeans off, Matt kicking them and his socks to the floor. 

“You too, c’mon,” Matt mumbles against Nick’s mouth. Nick’s skinny jeans are more difficult to get off, and Matt would like to say he helps, but really he just gets in the way because he’s preoccupied with groping Nick’s arse, and then he’s busy laughing at Nick flipping over onto his back and wriggling around whilst trying to peel the jeans off. It’s worth it, though. Arse groping always is. 

Nick throws his jeans in Matt’s face once he’s finally got them off. “You’re useless,” he says. 

Matt throws the jeans on the floor and sticks his tongue out at Nick. “Come back here.” 

“Fine then,” Nick says like it’s a chore, slotting his leg between Matt’s and leaning over him, hands on either side of Matt’s head. Matt doesn’t move except to grin stupidly up at Nick, and Nick smiles back. “Hey--”

“Hi,” Matt replies before Nick can continue.

“Shut up,” Nick says. “Do you know what you’re doing?” 

“Yes, obviously,” Matt says automatically.

“Yeah? I thought maybe--” Nick starts, intending to say he thinks Matt seems a little cautious underneath the enthusiasm, maybe because he’s never had sex with a guy before that Nick is aware of. 

“No, it’s fine,” Matt interrupts, sounding tenfold more sure than he actually feels. He gets a hand in the back of Nick’s hair and pulls him down to kiss him, hoping he’ll forget about it. 

Nick doesn’t forget about it, though he does decide not to question it too hard. The way Matt is letting Nick lead everything isn’t exactly how Nick pictured this going down in his head (like, since when does Matt not take control of everything?), but sometimes people are different in bed than they are in everyday life. This is just one new exciting thing Nick gets to learn about Matt. 

Matt manages to relax a bit somewhere between taking off their pants and Nick propping up Matt’s head with a pillow and sweetly kissing him before getting a hand on his dick. It’s the perfect mix of somewhat familiar and completely new, Nick’s absurdly long fingers uncomparable, and the same is the case with wanking Nick in return. Everything about Nick is kind of wonderful, Matt thinks with the extent of his mental capacities.

“Lovely fingers,” Nick gasps out, watching Matt’s hand, and then he’s moving away. Matt makes a dissatisfied noise. “Shhh, love,” Nick says, opening the top drawer of his bedside table and pulling out a container of lube and a condom. “We’ll put those fingers to even better use, yeah?” 

Matt’s brain stutters to a stop and swings into overdrive. He’s done his fair share of research into this whole gay sex concept, so he knows exactly what Nick is talking about, but not even reading tutorials and watching porn could really prepare him for the real deal actually about to happen. If anything, all the warnings and uncomfortable positions he’s looked at from the comfort of his own home have just served to scare him further. “Uhhh,” he manages.

Nick frowns. “Matt?” 

“Uh huh.”

Nick bites at his lower lip. “You said you knew what you were doing,” he says. Sometimes he really hates it when he was actually right in the first place.

“I _do_ ,” Matt says defensively. “I just, you’re waving _lube_ about, I don’t know.”

“The lube’s pretty necessary,” Nick says, putting it and the condom down next to the pillows. “I mean, unless you don’t want to fuck me, we don’t--”

“No, no,” Matt says. He clears his throat. “I want to. I really want to.” 

“And I really want you to, glad we’re on the same page,” Nick says. “We have to keep making sure we are, though, yeah? D’you wanna tell me what’s freaking you out about it?” 

Matt nods. Seeing Nick taking this so seriously and being so calm about it is actually kind of turning him on even more. “I dunno, it just always seems so over the top and the internet listed all these _risks_ , and…”

Nick snorts. “We’ll keep it simple, I promise, and we’re both clean, yes?” He waits for Matt to nod before continuing. “I’ve been here before, so I know it’s gonna be fine, baby. I’ll walk you through it real slow.”

“I trust you,” Matt says. “C’mere, give us a kiss.”

Nick obliges. He takes his time licking into Matt’s mouth, slowly easing himself onto his back so that Matt is awkwardly hovering above him. “Get the lube,” he instructs Matt. “Coat your fingers, there you go. Quite a lot, yes.”

Matt is shaking the slightest bit, adrenaline and nerves getting the best of him. Nick takes one look at his wide eyes and can’t help but start snickering. Matt stares at him in dismay. “Are you _laughing_ at me?”

“I’m so sorry,” Nick chokes out. “You look like Bambi.”

Nick’s laugh is contagious, so Matt’s laughing even as he punches Nick in the shoulder with the hand not covered in lube. “You’re the worst.”

“Shhhh, shhhh,” Nick says. He spreads his thighs apart and makes his best ‘come hither’ face. “Come on, ease a finger in there for me.”

Matt goes for it before he can think too hard about it. “Is that good?” he asks, even as Nick clearly makes a pleased noise and shoves himself down on Matt’s finger.

“ _So_ good, Finchy, such a good job. Move a bit, yeah. Like that.” He keeps instructing Matt to the best of his ability, telling him when to add another finger, and by the time they work up to three, Nick is a little incoherent and Matt is feeling a lot more confident. “Okay, I think-- m’ready,” Nick says. He looks at Matt through his eyelashes. “Y’ready?”

Matt nods. “I think so.”

“‘Kay. Condom and then more lube,” Nick instructs. He gestures at Matt’s dick. “All on there.”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, rolling on the condom and slicking it up. His heart is stuck in his throat, pure want pulsing through his veins, and he reaches for Nick’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Real slow,” Nick murmurs, squeezing Matt’s hand reassuringly. “C’mon, I want you so bad.”

Matt giggles a little, overwhelmed, and carefully guides himself to Nick’s entrance, pressing in slowly. It’s almost too much for both of them immediately, Matt having to stop and start often, but they hold each other’s hand through it, all the way until Matt is fully inside Nick. 

They take a moment, staring into each other’s eyes like the secrets of the universe are hidden somewhere between them, and then Nick exhales sharply and the moment is shifted away. “Move, move,” Nick begs. “Fuck me, please.”

Matt is no one to deny such a plaintive request, thrusting short and fast. He draws the nicest whimpering noises out of Nick’s mouth, and Matt can’t help but lean down to catch them against his own mouth with sloppy kisses that don’t match their rhythm at all. Nick starts stroking himself, and Matt redoubles his efforts. 

“Not gonna last,” he murmurs in Nick’s ear. “Want you to come first for me, can you?” Nick groans, nodding, his eyes shut tight. “Want you to show me,” Matt says.

It only takes another few moments before Nick is coming, his entire body shaking with it, and Matt is gone as well, unable to hold himself back any longer. They’re free falling together, bliss like wind rushing past their ears, skin tingling with the force of their exploding hearts. 

Matt crashes down, energy leaving his limbs, and he barely manages to not collapse on Nick. He pulls out and manages to put the condom in the bin properly before curling up against Nick, cheek pressed to his chest. 

“How was that?” Nick mumbles, nearly illegible. “Not so scary, hm?”

“No,” Matt agrees, yawning, warmth radiating from all the places Nick is pressed against him and settling into his bones. “Perfect.”

It’s a gross exaggeration, of course, being as it was a far cry from perfect, but it doesn’t matter. Matt is sure that they’ll get there eventually. It took them months--years, even--to stumble through their awkward phases and climb the mountain of confused emotions to end up here, and if they’re capable of that, well. They’re damn well capable of anything. 

 

_epilogue_

 

 **nick grimshaw** @grimmers  
cos i been thinking bout forrrrreeevvveeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr  
 **Matt Fincham** @mattfincham  
@grimmers shhhhhhhhhh

**Author's Note:**

> A fairly comprehensive list of canon references can be found [here](http://thistidalwave.tumblr.com/post/86555977735/isys-irl-masterlist)! :)


End file.
